EmoriTheEntity

your hand moves from your robe to your stomach, pressing against the plane of your belly. you're small. you know this. delicate in a way that makes people underestimate you. and blind. gods, the blindness. the one thing that has sent every single suitor running in the opposite direction.

princes would see your face first—the one they called ethereal, otherworldly, beautiful in a way that seemed impossible—and they'd fall to their knees.

they'd whisper sweet words, promises of devotion, declarations of love at first sight. and then you'd speak, and they'd realize your eyes didn't track their movements, didn't meet their gaze. and slowly, painfully, you'd listen to them pull away. hear the hesitation creep into their voices. feel the distance grow until they were gone.

you were used to it.

but sukuna? sukuna had looked at you once, for a single moment, and said yes. the entire empire had been shocked. the king of curses, the ruthless murderer, the emperor who had never shown interest in any woman, accepting a blind bride from a neighboring kingdom? it was scandalous. impossible.

and you'd felt hope.

you hate yourself for that hope now.

because three months of silence have taught you the truth. he doesn't want you. he tolerates you. and honestly? you'd almost prefer cruelty. at least cruelty would be a reaction. at least cruelty would mean he saw you as something worth acknowledging.

but this nothingness? this endless, suffocating nothingness?

it makes you feel like you've already disappeared.

the servants guide you through your days with practiced efficiency. they dress you, feed you, lead you through the palace halls. you've memorized the layout of your chambers, the path to the gardens, the number of steps from your room to the dining hall. you've learned to navigate this world without sight, just as you've always done.

but you can't navigate him.

you don't know where he sits at meals. you don't know if he watches you. you don't know if he even notices when you're in the same room. his presence is a void—a massive, oppressive absence of warmth that you can feel but never touch.

tonight was bad.

you'd been led to the gardens by a new servant, someone who didn't know your habits. she'd taken you left instead of right, and you'd walked straight into a hedge, thorns scratching your calves before she'd yanked you back with a flurry of apologies.

then you'd almost fallen down a staircase—the grand staircase with its uneven steps—your foot catching on the edge, your heart lurching into your throat as you'd pitched forward. a guard caught you just in time.

and the whispers.

you can't see their faces, but you can hear their voices. the concubines. the noblewomen. the servants who think you can't hear them.

"the blind empress."

"does he even notice her?"

"i heard he hasn't touched her once."

"what a waste of a pretty face."

"she must be so lonely."

"she must be so pathetic."

you'd smiled through all of it. kept your head high, your shoulders back, your voice steady. you learned long ago that showing weakness only invites more cruelty. so you'd walked through the halls with your practiced grace, your cane tapping against the marble floors, your face serene.

but inside, you were crumbling.

and now, lying in this massive bed, with your hair spread across a silk pillow and the scent of incense curling through the air, you can feel him beside you. he's so close. you know he's sitting up, his back probably against the headboard, his presence a heavy weight in the darkness.

does he ever sleep?

you've never heard him snore. never heard him shift in his sleep. he's so still, so silent, you sometimes wonder if he's even real.

a long, long time passes. the candles burn down. the incense fades. the night wraps around you like a shroud.

and you can't take it anymore.

"ryomen?"

your voice comes out soft, barely above a whisper. you hate how small you sound. how vulnerable. you'd wanted to sound strong, confident, demanding. instead, you sound like a child calling out in the dark.

silence.

you wait. count your heartbeats. one. two. three. four. five.

just when you're certain he's ignoring you, just when the familiar ache of rejection settles into your chest, a voice cuts through the darkness.

"what."

it's gruff. low. a single word that rumbles through the air like distant thunder. and it's the most he's said to you in days.

you swallow. your throat is dry. your fingers twist in the sheets.

"i...i want to ask you something."

more silence. you can feel him staring at you. you can't see it, but you can feel it—the weight of his gaze, heavy and unreadable.

"ask."

you take a shaky breath. this is it. this is the moment you've been building toward for three months. the question that's been eating you alive, consuming you from the inside out.

"do you hate me?"

the words hang in the air between you. they sound so small. so pathetic. you wish you could take them back, but it's too late. they're out there now, exposed and raw.

"hate you?" his voice is strange. almost...confused?

"because of...because i'm...y'know, blind." the words taste like ash in your mouth. "i know it's...i know i'm not what you expected. i know i'm not the best option. i know i'm—"

"stop."

the word is sharp, and you flinch. your breath catches in your throat. you brace yourself for anger, for cruelty, for him to finally confirm what you've suspected all along.

but instead of harsh words, you feel movement. the bed shifts. his weight moves closer.

and then, without warning, a hand wraps around your waist and pulls.

you let out a frightened shriek as you're yanked from your position, your body colliding with something solid and warm. your hands fly out, grasping at fabric, at skin, at anything. you're on his lap, straddling his thighs, your chest pressed against his. he's so big—so impossibly large—that you feel like a doll in his arms.

"ryomen!" your voice is high, panicked. "what—"

"quiet."

his hand settles on your thigh. it's huge. calloused. rough in a way that sends shivers down your spine. but the touch is gentle. impossibly gentle. he strokes your thigh once, twice, a soothing motion that slowly calms your racing heart.

"you really think," he says slowly, his voice rumbling against your chest, "that i hate you?"

you can't speak. your throat is too tight. you settle for shaking your head against his chest, even though it's a lie.

a low sound escapes him—not quite a growl, not quite a laugh. his hand slides from your thigh to your chin, tilting your face up. his thumb brushes across your lower lip, feather-light.

"open your eyes."

the command catches you off guard. "what?"

"your eyes. open them."

you blink, confused. your eyes are already open. you can't see anything, but they're open. you tell him as much.

"no." his voice is strange. softer. "i mean...look at me."

"i can't see you."

"i know." his thumb traces your jawline. "but i can see you. and i want to see your eyes. please."

please.

the word catches you off guard. the king of curses, saying please? to you?

you don't move. don't breathe. just let him hold your face in his massive hand, his touch devastatingly tender.

"i don't hate you," he says, and his voice cracks on the words. "gods, woman. i could never hate you."

your heart stutters. "then why—"

"because i'm fuckin' terrified."

you blink. "what?"

"do you know what i am?" his hand slides from your face to your hair, fingers threading through the strands. "i'm a killer. i've been killing for centuries. my hands are stained with blood i'll never wash clean. i'm rough, and violent, and i don't know how to be gentle."

"but—"

"but when i saw you..." he trails off. his fingers tighten in your hair, just barely. "when i saw you, i couldn't breathe. you were so beautiful. so small. so... perfect. and i thought, 'she's too good f'me.' , 'i'll break her.' , 'i'll hurt her.'"

his voice drops to a whisper.

"so i stayed away. because every time i look at you, i want to touch you. and every time i touch you, i'm afraid i'll destroy you."

tears prick at your eyes. you don't understand. you can't understand. this entire time, you thought he hated you. you thought he found you repulsive, broken, worthless.

but he was...

...afraid?

"you don't hate me?" you whisper.

"no." his forehead presses against yours. "i love you. i've loved you since the moment i saw you."

a sob escapes your throat. it's ugly and raw and you can't stop it.

"but you never—you never talked to me—"

"because i didn't trust myself." his other hand comes up to cup your cheek. "because i knew if i started, i wouldn't be able to stop."

"then don't stop."

the words leave your mouth before you can think. they hang in the air, bold and desperate.

"don't stop," you repeat. "please. i don't want you to stop."

sukuna goes still. so still that you wonder if he's stopped breathing.

"you don't know what you're asking."

"i do." you reach up, your fingers finding his face. you trace the planes of his cheeks, the sharp lines of his jaw, the curve of his lips. "you're my husband. i want you. all of you."

"i'll hurt you."

"i don't care."

"i'll break you."

"i don't care."

his breath hitches. and then, finally, finally, his lips crash against yours.

the kiss is desperate. hungry. it tastes like three months of longing, of confusion, of aching loneliness. his hand fists in your hair, pulling you closer, and you gasp against his mouth. his tongue slides against your lower lip, asking for entry, and you give it willingly.

he tastes like sake and power and something darker. something that makes your toes curl and your heart race.

he pulls back, breathless.

"tell me to stop, and i will."

"don't," you say immediately. "don't stop."

he groans. his hands slide down your back, gripping your hips, and he lays you down on the bed. you fall against the silk sheets, your hair spreading around you like a halo. you can't see him, but you can feel him—his weight on the bed, his heat surrounding you, his breath ghosting across your skin.

"m'gonna show you," he says, his voice low and rough. "m'gonna kiss every inch of your body. gonna taste you until you scream my name. i want to make you feel so good that you forget every single doubt you've ever had about yourself."

your breath catches. "ryomen—"

"let me." his lips brush against your neck. "let me show you how much i love you."

you nod, unable to speak.

his hands find the tie of your robe. he undoes it slowly, reverently, like he's unwrapping a gift he's been waiting centuries to open. the fabric falls away, cool air hitting your skin, and you shiver.

"beautiful," he breathes. "so fucking beautiful."

you feel his lips on your collarbone. soft. worshipful. he kisses down your chest, his tongue tracing a path between your breasts. his hands cup your breasts, thumbs brushing across your nipples, and you gasp.

"sensitive," he murmurs. "good. i'll remember that."

he takes one nipple into his mouth. his tongue circles the peak, slow and deliberate, and you arch into him with a desperate moan. he laves at you, sucking gently, nipping with his teeth until you're writhing beneath him.

"more," you gasp. "please—"

"patience." his voice is a dark promise. "i haven't even started with ya' yet."

he switches to the other breast, giving it the same attention. his hand slides down your stomach, fingers tracing patterns on your skin, until he reaches the apex of your thighs. you're already wet—embarrassingly wet—and he lets out a low growl when he feels it.

"fuck," he mutters against your skin. "you're soaked. f'me?"

"yes," you whimper. "only you."

he groans. his fingers slide through your folds, collecting your wetness, and you buck into his touch.

"tell me what you want."

"i want—" you gasp as his thumb circles your clit. "m'want your mouth."

his laugh is dark and breathless. "demanding little thing, aren't ya'?"

"please," you beg. "ryo, please—"

"shh." he kisses your stomach. "i'll give ya' what y'want."

he moves down your body, his lips leaving a trail of fire. he kisses your hips, your thighs, the inside of your knees. by the time he reaches your core, you're trembling, desperate, aching.

and then his tongue touches you.

you cry out, your hands flying to his hair. he laps at you like a man starved, his tongue sliding through your folds, circling your clit, dipping inside you. he moans against you, the vibration sending shockwaves through your body.

"taste s'good," he mutters against your skin. "could eat ya' forever."

he sucks your clit into his mouth, and you scream. your hips buck against his face, but he holds you down, his massive hands gripping your thighs. he alternates between sucking and licking, building a rhythm that has you climbing higher and higher.

"that's it," he praises. "let go f'me...lemme taste ya'."

his fingers find your entrance, sliding inside you without warning. two fingers, thick and long, stretching you. he curls them, hitting a spot that makes you see stars, and you shatter.

you come with a scream of his name, your body convulsing as waves of pleasure crash through you. he doesn't stop. he laps at you through your orgasm, drawing it out until you're sobbing from the intensity.

when you finally come down, he crawls up your body, his lips finding yours. you taste yourself on his tongue, and it's the most intimate thing you've ever experienced.

"m-more," you whisper. "m'want more."

his eyes—you can feel them—search your face.

"are you sure? we can stop. we can—"

"i'm sure." you reach for him, your fingers finding his chest. "i want you...please."

he hesitates. you feel the tension in his muscles, the restraint he's barely holding onto.

"m'bigger than ya'," he says, matter of factly. "a lot bigger. and i have...i have two dicks, woman. i don't know if—"

"i don't care." you pull him closer. "i trust you."

he groans, pressing his forehead against yours.

"if it hurts too much, tell me. and i'll stop."

"okay."

"promise me."

"i promise."

he shifts above you, and you feel something heavy and thick press against your thigh. and then another. two cocks. the thought should terrify you, but instead, it sends a thrill through your body.

he aligns himself with your entrance, and you feel the tip pressing against you. he's huge—so much bigger than his fingers—and you wonder if you can actually take him.

"relax f'me," he murmurs. "breathe."

you inhale deeply, and he pushes in.

just the tip, and you gasp. he's stretching you in a way that's almost unbearable. it hurts. there's a burning sensation, a pressure that's too much and not enough.

"shh," he soothes. "you're doing s'well. so good f'me."

he pushes deeper, inch by agonizing inch. you feel your body struggling to accommodate him, your walls clenching around his length. and then—

a sharp pain.

fuck...you forgot.

you cry out, your nails digging into his shoulders. he stops immediately.

"did i hurt ya'?"

you can't answer. the pain is fading, replaced by a strange fullness. you feel something wet trickle down your thigh. warm. sticky.

blood.

his eyes slowly flicker down, and you can hear his breath stop. he's tense. too tense.

"fuck," he hisses. "you're—you're a fuckin' virgin?"

you nod weakly, biting your lip. your heart is pounding fast. loud. "is that...bad?"

"no." his voice is strained. "no, it's not bad. i just—fuck—i didn't know. i would have been more careful, woman."

"you are being careful," you whisper, fingers pressing into his shoulders "keep going."

"you're fuckin' bleeding."

"i don't care. please. i want to feel you." you sniffle. god, the pleasure is making you bold. too fucking bold.

he lets out a shaky breath. "you're going to kill me."

but he pushes deeper, slower this time. gentler. his lips find yours, kissing you softly as he sinks into you. the pain fades, replaced by a deep, aching fullness that makes you moan.

when he's fully sheathed, he stops. lets you adjust. his forehead presses against yours, his breath ragged.

"y'feel incredible," he breathes. "so tight. so...fuck...perfect."

"move," you beg. "please."

he pulls out slowly, then pushes back in. the friction is delicious, the stretch exquisite. he sets a rhythm—slow, deep, deliberate—each thrust hitting a spot that makes you see stars.

"ryomen," you gasp. "r-ryo—"

"i know," he murmurs. "i know, doll. feels s'good, doesn't it?"

"yes—yes—"

his hand slides down your stomach, pressing against the slight bulge where he's buried inside you. the feeling makes you moan.

"look at that," he says, awe in his voice. "you can feel me, can't ya'? right here."

he presses down, and you feel it—the outline of him inside you. it's obscene. it's incredible.

"more," you gasp. "harder—"

"y'sure?"

"yes—please—"

he obliges. his pace quickens, his thrusts becoming more urgent. the bed creaks beneath you, the sound mixing with your moans and his grunts.

"gonna come," he warns. "where do you want it?"

"inside," you gasp. "please—i want to feel you—"

he groans, his hips slamming into yours. and then he's coming, hot and thick, filling you so completely. you feel it—his release pouring into you, painting your walls, claiming you from the inside. his cum is already trickling down your thigh, oozing out of your cunt.

at the same time, he's stroking his other cock. you feel the wet spurts hit your stomach, warm and sticky.

he collapses on top of you, careful not to crush you. his face buries in your neck, and you feel his breath, ragged and uneven.

"i love you," he whispers, gruff. it's funny. you've always thought the word love doesn't exist in his vocabulary. but here he is, saying it over and over again. "i love you so much it terrifies me."

you wrap your arms around him, pulling him closer.

"i love you too."

a long moment passes. then another. and then—

"we're going to do that again."

you laugh, breathless.

"right now?"

"after i clean you up." he kisses your neck. "and then again. and again. and again. until ya' can't walk."

"promise?"

he pulls back, and even though you can't see him, you know he's smirking.

"promise."

you're already half asleep when he pulls you against his chest, his arms wrapped around you like he's afraid you'll disappear. his lips press against your hair, your forehead, your eyelids.

"my wife," he murmurs. "my perfect, beautiful wife."

you smile against his skin.

"my husband."

"forever."

"forever."

2026 ── 𝓦𝐎𝐑𝐊 𝐎𝐅 @atelphobist 𝜗ৎ

ᥫ᭡ | © 𝘰𝘧 𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘱𝘩𝘰𝘣𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘳. 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘦𝘥. 𝘯𝘰 𝘤𝘰𝘱𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘳 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘪.

But isn’t he just a disappointment anyway?

“Am I having fun watching you with another woman at my engagement party?” You ask softly, shaking your head. “I get it, I’m not your type. I knew that from people telling me so.”

He pauses, right in the center of the dance floor.

“Yet I expected some decorum, I expected you to at least be respectful, not to show the world how unappealing you find me,” you whisper, biting down on your lip, shaking your head now. “I wanted to at least try here, with you.”

Satoru can’t speak.

Until he spins you, and catches you, his big hand taking over your waist, thumb pressing under the swell of your breasts. He almost falls then, from just a look, yet he holds himself back, he stops every insane thought and action, laughing easily, like he’s amused.

Satoru is good at hiding.

“Ya thought we’d have some story book romance, huh? Oh… you’re a fairy princess and I’m from another kingdom? And oh…” He leans down, so low to you, lips a breath away. “I fall for the princess, she’s just so beautiful, how can’t I?”

“Gojo…”

“News to you, perfect little fairy princess, I’m not interested in marriage, or any of this shit, this show, I fucking hate it,” his words are harsh, as he squeezes you too tightly, so tightly you’re shaking, tears streaming down your cheeks. “Your prince from another kingdom just stuck his fingers in a waitress. That’s reality, sweetheart.”

You tremble in his hold, and he knows then.

He hurt you.

Good, he thinks, shit will be easier that way, safer if you hate him, if you smack him, tell him to fuck himself. Yet you tilt your chin up and spin as the dance calls for, giving a little curtsey as he steps closer, not showing a hint of emotion aside from your tears that you seemingly can’t stop.

“I see,” is all you say then, stepping back into his arms, as the crowd of gossiping families speaks of it all, you hold all of your composure, even as he raises a brow, looking down at you. “Maybe I am foolish, to have thought it that way. Yet I still don’t understand why you’re…”

“What, little princess? So mean?”

You just look down again, quiet, swallowing visibly, you smell too good, invading his fucking senses. “I didn’t think you were mean when I met you as a child.”

“As a child?” Satoru pauses, and you sigh, shaking your head.

“Of course you wouldn’t remember, I’m not very special.” You step back as the song ends, and your tragic eyes meet his, before lowering them and bowing a little bit. “Have a good rest of your evening, I’m feeling a little…” You look at the girl he’d just kissed. “Sick.”

When you rush off, politely excusing yourself, Satoru feels this sinking in his heart, questions simmering under the surface – what if he just was kind to you? What if he at least didn't make a fool of himself?

But he doesn't go after you, no that would have been the ‘right’ thing to do. The thing is, you're much better off without him. So he's dancing with women who make his family furiously whisper amongst themselves, and he just knows -

You will hate him, and you’re better off for it.

*****

You

You didn't expect a fairy tale marriage. Even marrying the man who is basically the ‘prince’ of all the families, all of the clans, the Gojo heir. You may as well be the ‘princess’ of your own, both of you promised as children to each other, knowing no love or match would come to anything.

This was it, your future, but you met him when he was just a little kid, he's two years older than you. His blue eyes and spiky white hair were enough to make your heart race, but mostly you noticed how sad those blue eyes were.

He wasn't mean then, he was kind and reserved, not boisterous, laughing and acting a fool. He was cautious more like you are, both of you not wanting to disappoint your very harsh parents who had so many expectations. Satoru had given you his hand, holding it tightly, pressing a little kiss on the back of it.

So you'll be my wife some day

Yeah…

You're um… pretty.

That was it, just a moment and then he'd had to run off. And you only saw Satoru in bits and pieces, here and there from afar, watching and knowing he didn’t notice you. Yet that moment gave you hope. 

Just to fucking crush it all.

It's your wedding night, and his staff is carrying all of your luggage inside the expensive mansion. Satoru is drunk, you notice he is around you, as if that helps with the pain of having to be married to you, stumbling just a bit and chuckling darkly when you try to help him.

“I'm fine,” he yanks your hand off like you burned him. Your tummy is in knots, you feel sick. “Let me show you your room. Princess.”

He says it always mockingly, tonight you know he was with someone again, he's made no attempt to hide kissing others. You're sure he probably does more, but you're innocent yourself so you don't exactly know what's what. Your parents pounded innocence and propriety in your head.

You'll be Gojo’s wife, you must be pure for him.

What a joke, really, to be pure for someone who will never want you, to watch him kissing on necks in the gardens, laughing until he sees your face. You never have been a very confident girl, but everyone has always told you that you're pretty, lovely, so you sort of didn't think your looks were an issue.

Then again, it could just be you. Maybe you're boring, maybe you're too proper. Your mind wracks with doubts as he leads you up the winding staircase of the Gojo mansion up to a dark hallway. He opens a door and you pause, breath catching in your throat at how beautiful it is.

“This is our room?” You ask softly, the blue silk bed and gossamer canopy snug in a room of soft whites and blues. He chuckles, making you look at him.

“They had it made for us, pretentious isn't it?” You blink a bit.

“I think it's beautiful,” it's quiet when you step in, still in your beaded and saying white wedding gown. You slip off your veil and take a breath. Looking in the mirror.

You look gorgeous today.

No matter what he says or doesn't say, you see it in that reflection. In your lashes, in your eyes, in your lips, painted a pretty crimson. Your body is showcased to perfection, modest but still sensual, just hints of your lines and curves outlined, the material glinting in the soft light.

“Your room,” he says at the doorway, and you pause, making him smirk. “You didn't think we were fucking did you?”

You blush furiously, looking down nervously at your hands entwined in front of you. “I did think we would… make the marriage official even if you don't find me attractive.”

It's dead silent, lingering in the air – your insecurities rampant.

“Why? Because our duty?” He asks, stepping inside, his dress shoes echoing on the floor, coming to stand behind you, reflection in the mirror making you tremble.

“We will need to have babies, it's expected of me. Or I'll be… a failure as a wife.” Your voice breaks, and for a moment you see blue eyes soften, you feel fingertips slipping over your straps, yet they halt, and his eyes narrow. 

“I won't fuck you, not for duty or expectations, fuck them and fuck that.”

It's like a slap to the face. You take a breath, trembling now. “Gojo, am I that displeasing really? I tried so hard to look-”

“Nothing will make me fuck you,” he murmurs coolly. “We will ride this shit out till I find a way to end it somehow.”

“End it?” your brows draw together, eyes swimming in unshed tears, his fingers slip off now, going to your back, slowly undoing the little rows of buttons methodically.

“An annulment, divorce, whatever… fuck this shit, I'm not staying married.” he is casual as he helps you out of your dress, knuckles tracing up your spine, then he smirks. “Oh shit. You want me? Hah… that's cute.”

“I… um… you…” You're flushed, reflection in the mirror blushing, as you look at him, his cruel smirk, his mean eyes. “Am I not supposed to want you?”

“Of course you do, I am Satoru Gojo,” he presses those straps down, pausing when he gets a view of your breasts as you hold the dress against them, your back exposed and bare. “You can always touch yourself and think of me, who am I to deny that? But I will never touch you.”

It's like he just stabs you in the stomach. You turn, facing the cruel, tall man now, on the night you hoped for something, anything, but you're just met with a mean curve of his lips. “So what, you'll just… fuck anyone but me?”

“You can cuss?” He laughs a bit, fingers curling along one of the carefully coifed ringlets.

“Yes, I can. I just don't usually,” you take a breath. Trying to remember. 

Obey him.

Treasure him.

For your family

“You don't know me and you won't even try to, will you?”

“You want dick that bad, huh?” You gasp, slapping him as hard as you can then, he winces and rubs his cheek, glaring at you. You falter, looking at his pink cheek and gasping.

“I'm sorry. I…”

“Let's get one thing straight, princess,” Satoru Gojo leans over you, an arm on either side, tilting his head as you grip your wedding dress tightly to your chest. “We can do our own things. I get it. You have to live here for now.”

For now.

“But don't you dare fucking hit me,” he grips your wrist, bruising with his long fingers, you gasp out at the pain, tears falling. “Not used to men not wanting you, huh?”

“What!?” You're blinking in confusion, his grip tightening, your heart sinking.

You feel so sick.

“Never been turned down because you're the family princess, aww. So cute,” he leans down, touching your cheek, eyes a cruel bluee. “Everyone after that money, after a chance with you, so special. Well you're not fucking special to me, we are just the same.”

“I don't think I'm special or anything!? I never said that.”

“Don't have to, I can just see it.”

You're shaking in his hold. “I just thought we could try, you don't even know if we have anything, a connection or-”

Gojo laughs at you.

He laughs. 

“Try what, fucking you? You want my dick real bad.”

“No!? Just if we could feel a connection? I… like you haven't kissed me, how do you even-”

Satoru grabs your face, leaning low and pressing his lips against yours, capturing them and making you lose your breath. You melt when his plump lips work yours, when a hand comes to entangle in your hair, your hands slipping off your dress so that your nipples hit the cool air.

His tongue slips in your mouth, exploring the recesses with far too much finesse, hot and drooling as he presses you against the hard wood of the dresser.

You've never kissed.

You try to move your tongue back, knowing you're awful at it, your arms slipping around his neck. He's mean, he's cruel, but you want to try, you want to have this. Feel whatever this dizzy sensation is, one of his hands gripping your breast as he pulls back, lips glossy, eyeing them now.

“I'll give you this,” he murmurs softly. “You have perfect tits.”

“Um…” You're stammering again, whimpering when his thumb brushes your nipple. 

“Perfect posture, pretty face, nice little body. It's not enough though sweetheart," he pulls back now, grinning and crossing his arms as you just stand there. “There, your kiss, and there's nothing between us. Is there? Enough to shove that fantasy out of your head?”

Nothing!?

“You think keeping your tits out will make me hard?” You gasp, covering them up, blinking back more hot tears.

He wipes his lips with his thumb. As if to remove the kiss from his memory. You look down, pain making you dizzy – deep pain.

“I just… you’re so sure that this won’t work that you’re not trying!” He laughs softly, without humor.

Charming. Handsome. Cruel.

Satoru’s two fingers brush down your collarbone and across it, a mean smile on a devastatingly pretty face as he watches goosebumps dance across your skin. "You want me to touch you. Hmm?"

"I just…" you cover yourself with your arms now, suddenly so insecure, you were anyway but this was more. It was worse, having the man you've been infatuated with since a kid turning you down, on a night you felt so beautiful. "I just thought we could try to find some common ground, to maybe make this work. Become… more?"

He leans down, his sweet breath against your lips, tickling them as his blue eyes glitter, cold like the most beautiful sapphires, and just as hard, there’s no emotion in their depths. So cold you shiver, swallowing nervously.

"Oh sweetheart, I don't want any of it. What they tell me to do, what they expect, no... I'll burn it all to the fucking ground, and them with it.”

“Burn it to the ground?” Your whisper is soft, his lips curve mean when he grips your chin.

"You're a pretty girl, but I'm not for you. That's the most you're getting from me.”

Not. For. You.

"What is so wrong with me?” You hate how desperate you sound.

Was this who you are?

Do you know yourself outside of becoming Satoru Gojo's wife?

“It’s not…” he trails off, pinching the bridge of his nose and sighing. “You just don’t seem to get it, little princess. It’s an inconvenience, this entire thing.”

Great.

You’re just a fucking inconvenience to your ‘husband’.

“We will let them think we're good for a year, maybe two. Then I'll get out of this, you should thank me really, it's not like you chose it either.”

He turns now, leaving you close to collapsing, with the pain, with the casual cruelty. “Satoru…”

“Don't fucking call me that,” he snaps, looking back at you. You step back and bump into the elegant dresser, shaking as he looks at you with such hatred. “You don't get to call me my first name.”

“I am… I am sorry if I messed something up. If I did something wrong…” You're sniffling your tears, trying to keep it together. “I haven't even kissed before and I probably am just bad at it. Just give me a chance to-”

“Stop trying,” his voice is softer, like he fucking feels bad for you. That's worse than his cruelty – pity. “Just keep to yourself and I will too, until I find a way out of it. It's useless to try.”

“Useless to?”

“Sweetheart,” his tongue is honeyed, a lilt to his voice. “I'll never want you.”

The knife in your heart?

Twisted.

“Oh, I see…” You take a breath, just nodding then, hands gripping the beaded material so tightly they ache.

Obedient.

Sweet.

Serve your husband.

It's what you were trained to be, a traditional wife who follows her husband's orders, even your stinging palm was beyond what you're used to. How can you serve a man that doesn’t want you, how can you obey someone when their only order is for you to quit trying?

As he walks out, with just one look over his shoulder before he shuts that door, leaving you alone in the room on your own in tears on your very wedding night… how can you act like that kiss meant nothing to you? How can you not sink down on that bed all alone, and sob.

The boy you fell in love with doesn't remember you.

Doesn't want you.

No, he hates you.

And you'll have to endure this and be a failure to your parents, the worst of all your fears.

You don't stop sobbing until dawn breaks into the windows.

*****

Gojo

It's been a month of having you in his home, you're trying to be so perfect too. Dinner ready every night, you sit there and wait for him, smiling so pretty, wearing some new outfit as if he will ever touch you again, trying to talk to him, to get to know him.

Satoru can't stand you.

All you do is make him want to end it quicker, so that he has no feelings in this. No amount of slutty little slips or lingering before bed time is getting him to consummate the marriage, to give in to what his family and elders shoved on him, controlling his entire life.

Nah fuck that.

Satoru is balls deep inside his secretary right now, condom dripping with her cum as he lets her bounce up and down his latex covered cock. He leans back and moans as she works him like a pro, bouncing her ass and letting it jiggle under the shoved up pencil skirt.

Of course he thinks of you, fists his cock to images of those tits, imagines those lips around his tip. All the more reason to not fuck you, imagine if he did? You were a virgin, probably would lay there and not know how to do shit, you could barely kiss him back.

He'd have to be all gentle, not slam you down and bottom out like he could right now. She's moaning, too loud, he has to slam a hand on her mouth, lips against her ear.

“We're at work,” he reminds gently.

“Sorry Mr. Gojo. Mnh!” Satoru's big hands work her up and down, bottoming out as she cums, covering her own mouth as she screams out.

“Hah, so messy,” he taunts, she's squirting all over his Armani slacks, right when the door opens.

Fuck.

Did he not lock it?

He pauses, and its…

You.

You quickly shut the door and turn away, as his secretary gasps, panicking and lifting up. Satoru drags her back down, eyeing you.

“Wife,” he teases, you turn to look at him, lunchbox in your hands. “Didn't expect you at my work. Can I cum real quick, then we can talk?”

You say nothing, obedient little thing that you are, not an ounce of fire in you aside from a little smack. He supposes that's how you were raised, how boring really, but he shoves the woman down once more. Toying with her clit and making her moan in front of you, right as he busts in that condom, groaning softly.

“Fuck, there we go,” he taps her and she hops off, giggling when she tugs her skirt down, rushing past you.

“Mrs. Gojo.” she says, you just step back and nod.

“Hello.”

‘Hello’ is what you say, to the woman who'd been riding your husband's cock?

He tosses the condom in the trash under his desk, sighing and smirking over at you, when you turn and see him, still hard and covered in milky seed, turning back around again.

“I'm sorry.”

“You're sorry?” He demands, slipping his boxers up now. “I was fucking someone and you're sorry?”

“I should have called first,” you turn back again, as he zips up, cheeks tinged pink.

You look beautiful today.

He wouldn't tell you. But you do.

“I was just… I learned to make sushi? I was so bored lately. Then… they kind of look ugly? But they're um… yummy and-”

“Just stop, fuck,” you look at him, tears in your eyes, clenched fists at your side when he takes the bento box. “Stop trying so hard, it's not gonna happen.”

“Gojo-”

“Stop, don't hurt yourself more.”

“But why am I so… why would you never ever want me?” you whisper brokenly then. “I am not trying to be mean but her? She's not even… attractive!? I don't-”

He laughs at you again, shaking his head. “You are a spoiled rich girl, a mean little thing. Because she's not drop dead gorgeous I couldn't want her? Looks mean nothing really, little princess. It's just you who I don't want.”

Your breasts heave up and down, finally a glare on your otherwise sad little pretty face. “I am trying!”

“I don't want you to fucking try, constantly acting like the perfect wife. I don't want it. Don't want you, how clear can I fucking make it!?”

You step up to him then, tilting your head to look up at the tall, cruel man, lipstick on his fucking neck, smirking at you. “Well maybe I don't want YOU, but I fucking TRY.”

“Oh. You want me,” he tilts your chin up, grinning at you, feeling your skin hot to the touch. “Bet you're so desperate you'd lick her pussy off me. Wouldn't you? For a chance.”

“I would never,” you shake your head. “Fine, you win. I won't try anymore.”

“Good. It's for your own best interest,” he pats your cheek and smiles. “What's on your plans today, hmm little perfect wife?”

“Not making dinner.” he smirks at you again. “Not trying for you ever again.”

You rush out of the door, dejected, shoulders slumped, when you look back at him though?

That look.

Heartbroken, devastated, done for. Like you just lost all your goddamn will to live.

That one hurts.

Satoru was not cruel before you. Sure he was a dick, he played a lot, he was conceited, but to make you give up trying made him have to push you away. If even fucking in front of you didn't he had to push it further, and he thinks that's the moment you gave up on him.

It's for your own best interest to end this when he can, to be strangers.

Your eyes are burned in his brain as he opens your dumb bento box, and sees these pretty little Sushi. Shaped like little hearts with pink paper instead of the traditional.

He swallows down his guilt when he sees them laid out with a cup of soup, rice, a drink even. And a little note on pink paper.

He hates himself more when he opens it. 

Gojo, I know you don't want me, don't want this, but if we could just try… I think there could be something, truly. When we kissed I did feel it, somewhere buried under the surface. 

I know I'm not who you chose, or who you want, but I hope one day we could grow to like each other. I am trying my hardest and I just hope that it can be enough.

Have a great day at work, I will see you at home.

Tears slip onto the note, bleeding the ink through the paper, he looks at the shut door you'd walked out of, remembering your eyes..they'd always fucking haunt him. That look of defeat written all over them.

You were bringing him lunch and love notes when he was letting a secretary ride his cock.

“Mr. Gojo?” his assistant opens his door, and he pauses, looking up at her. “You have a two a clock.”

“Right…” He just stares at the sushi, at the note, before shutting his eyes, swiping off tears he hasn't cried since he was a little kid.

That night, no dinner is made by you. No it's the chefs as it should always be, but it's a sign, as is you not in that dining room waiting for him. He walks around the mansion, looking for you, for any sign that you're in his home.

Why does he care?

He hears your sobs from the room you are supposed to share, and rests his door on it.

Why did you have to try so hard, when he told you not to?

“He will never w-want me…” You're sobbing and hiccuping. “Never enough.”

He swallows down his own self loathing, resting his head on the door, wondering at just who he is. Is this Satoru Gojo, or is this Satoru Gojo trying to be anything else but what he's always been pushed into?

He walks off to his own room, shutting the door. He'd have to end this marriage soon as he can, in whatever way that meant – to get you the fuck away from him. You may hate him for it, but at least you'd have a little bit of a choice in your life.

*****

You

You come home from an event with Satoru, a press junket where you have to act like a happy newlywed. And you do just that, you play your role, giggling with his hand on your waist, the most contact you've had since that kiss – the one where he felt nothing for you. The one that you felt shaken from, suddenly fucking delusional, in spite of the fact of one thing.

Satoru Gojo made sure to let you know there was no chance, he didn’t mince words, didn’t lead you on, it was your own hope that made you keep trying that first month, that hope that even after seeing him with his dick inside a woman, maybe he’d feel anything. Fuck, he made sure to cum before she got off of him, didn’t even stop mid fuck.

That’s how unimportant you were.

Yet even then you tried, until he made that disgusting comment – licking another woman off him? Calling you pathetic?

Well, you were.

You were not going to be cruel to him despite the rage in your heart, however, you just no longer try, it’s quiet when you take off your heels at the door, and he slips off his dress shoes. You both say nothing, but you feel his eyes on you at times, as if he expects some word out of your mouth.

You no longer say good morning, good night, you just live your life with Satoru for another month like this, he’ll have a girl over in his room, but you keep to yourself, living so alone… yet, with him.

Your few friends you have get worried for you, every time you get to see them over the next couple months you look more tired, you don’t look like you’re eating, you have dark circles under your eyes, the eyes that don’t glimmer any longer. They share their concerns quietly, over a nice brunch, but you act like everything is just fine.

Tonight your mother had pulled you aside, making sure to dissect your looks to a fault, including said dark circles – As if you didn’t have enough insecurities just being married to Satoru Gojo, a man who’d fuck anyone but you.

“You have to keep yourself together, look he’s all over those women,” she whispers, you would laugh but you know better, the woman who beat submission into your head was right here. You just look down, nodding.

“He always is.”

“So you need to get his attention,” you sigh, wanting to explain how hard you tried, even in lieu of him fucking that secretary in front of you, but you merely nod once more. “Get yourself together, you look like you haven’t slept in a week, your hair is oily even. What’s wrong with you!?”

What’s wrong with you?

You peer over to your tall, white haired husband surrounded by women in the ridiculously extravagant event, glamorously dressed when you chose a thin silk number, not caring anymore. You didn’t do your makeup, what did that matter? It’s not as if he’d ever look at you anyway.

“You’ll make him look bad, make us all look bad, you must gather yourself together and try more. Have I not raised you to be the perfect wife?”

The perfect wife.

To a husband who hates you.

“You did indeed Mother,” you manage to say, clearing your throat that night, feeling the eyes of so many curiously flit between you both. “I shall try not to disappoint you and father.”

Yet you are done trying, as he asked you to be, walking up the stairs now with him slowly trailing behind, as if to make sure there was enough space between the both of you.

Try a gym!

Or a spa day?

You need self care babe!

Yeah, your friends advice about self care was not enough for what you’re going through, but they ring in your head, as you head to your room, and reach around to try to unzip your dress. You curse, moving your hand in every which way, you then try to tug it up off you, but it’s half stuck with the tight material.

Fuck, you’re gonna have to ask him.

“Gojo…” You say, standing by his door, he’s up typing away on the laptop, shirtless, his body cut and chisled, muscles moving as he sits up straighter, eyeing you carefully.

“You, coming to my room?” You flush furiously, looking down.

“Don’t worry, I’ll never, ever ask to be intimate again,” you whisper, the pain still piercing your heart, your soul. He just looks down. “I just really can’t get out of this dress, and I swear to god it’s not a hit on or seduction.”

“Ah,” he doesn’t gloat like usual, standing up now, his sweats falling down his hips, you wish he didn’t look so good like that, coming up to you carefully, everything flexing as he walks. “Zipper stuck?”

“I think so, and it won’t go up over my damn hips,” you grumble, when he comes closer. “I’m sorry.”

“You apologize constantly,” you just nod again. “Turn around.”

You do that, lifting your hair off the nape of your neck for him, two of his fingers grasp the metal zipper, slipping it down achingly slow, the noise loud in his quiet room, mixing with his own catch of breath. It’s quiet, a few tendrils falling against the nape of your neck, as the zipper jams just a bit, stuck in the middle.

“Hang on…” He mumbles, clearly irritated, holding the dress tight together and then grasping it, jerking you just a bit as he finally gets it down. “There.”

“Thank you, Gojo,” you say softly, as he looks at the smooth expanse of your back, and for a moment neither of you move, you turn to face him, still holding your hair up. “I didn’t mean to bug you.”

He doesn’t say anything, knuckles brushing down your spine lightly, enough to make you ache in your core, something you’ve never really felt before this moment. You swallow nervously, blushing and looking away, you can’t make a fucking fool out of yourself again.

You will not push something he clearly doesn’t want, it’s just not right – even in the name of ‘marriage’ it should be Satoru’s choice too, and he so clearly would never choose you, in any world. You turn now, straps slipping down your shoulders, his bright blue eyes get dark and lidded when his gaze hits your tits, the tops of them showcased with the little dress half off.

“I’ll let you um… sleep.” You say, he just blinks a moment, clearing his throat now.

“Yeah.”

You slowly walk out, wondering if it is just you looking for something, anything, the way you damn near begged him to notice you, to want you, it was as he said – pathetic. Even knowing he’s fucking women actively, that he doesn’t have the time of day for you at all, you still crave it, you still don’t retaliate.

His phone rings, and you hear him murmuring while you’re in the hallway – 

Hey sweets, hmm… I bet you do miss me.

You feel your feet get heavy, you’ve been barely eating because you’re just fucking miserable, but hearing that as his door shuts and you walk to your lonely room sinks in. The miserable realization that he doesn’t care about you, that even if he gave you a glance, it was nothing, you were nothing to him.

You slip that dress off when you’re in your bedroom, looking at yourself in the mirror, even just his proximity always put a blush to your cheeks, as if your body was betraying your mind. You remember what your friends told you the other day, their concerned gazes, and the way they tried to be supportive when they barely know the half of what you endure.

Having to hear your husband jerking it on the phone and talking another girl through it when he has never touched you?

You are tired of crying, so tired.

You look up gyms in the area, sure that’s not really going to help a damn thing, but it might be enough to keep you busy, considering you can’t even work as a Gojo wife, and you’re left alone too often in the quiet, thinking too much. You pick one and map it, while laying in your bed and snuggling, yawning a bit as sleep starts to drag you under.

“All right, let’s see if self care will help me at all,” you say to yourself quietly, drifting off into a dreamless sleep, as you have been.

What’s there to dream about anymore?

*****

Sukuna

His knuckles are aching from hitting the big heavy black bag, punching it over and over, his class is done but Sukuna always loves to blow some steam off, and the best way is to beat the bag to a pulp. His ruby eyes are locked on the target, exhaling and controlling his breathing.

One, two.

One, two, punch.

Cross, jab, hook.

It’s methodical, it’s easy, even as his muscles ache – that ache is sweet, it’s so perfect to feel, he grins as he imagines beating the fuck out of so many people then. Start with his shit father – his mother gets a pass only due to being a woman – and then, all the little pretentious shits he went to college with.

Sukuna was supposed to be training to become a CEO, to take over his father’s position, and be a nepo baby like the rest of those damn men he partied with at the frat in college. Yet, he never, ever wanted that, and he built something for himself – several gyms, he’s trained pro boxers, national champions.

This was what Sukuna wanted to do.

Mostly, he loved to box, he cared just a little bit enough not to join those matches himself – oh, what would that look like!? The Sukuna heir going into a boxing ring!? Yet, at the same time, he had dreams of it. Of being in a ring and knocking everyone out, pushing that ‘family disappointment’ name even further.

For now, however, there is peace in the quiet gym.

That is, until you walk in.

Tired and fucking beautiful, these dark circles that sit under your eyes, a shy little nervous smile, about five minutes before he closes. You stand at the door and look around, frowning then and staring at your phone, wearing some pretty little yoga outfit and a big sweater, like you were getting ready for pilates rather than kickboxing.

“I’m sorry, first off for coming so late, second… ugh I thought you were a regular gym! Where is my brain…” You smack your forehead, turning, when he literally runs up to you, stopping you before fully thinking of it.

Sukuna, running.

You really are that pretty, when he sees a giant rock on your finger he curses internally, sighing.

“I do other things here, a whole room of workout machinery,” he says then, his voice just a little gruff, when you turn and look up at him, so shy, you look right back down at your feet, hugging yourself a bit. “I can show you, just need to lock up.”

“You probably want to get home, god I’m sorry, I slept all day like a miserable… oh… so sorry.” You have said sorry again, rambling now, making Sukuna wonder.

Just who has you this down? This shy? This clearly hurt?

“I meant to come earlier,” you blink back tears, looking up again with them swimming in your pretty eyes, so pretty he can’t decide what color they are, but the way they look at him almost takes him out. “I set an alarm, and promised I would make myself do something, then I just… hit it over and over. And now I’m rambling.”

“And crying,” he smirks a bit, swiping off a tear. “Rambling, crying, coming in late too, huh?”

“I know I’m so-”

“I’m teasing,” he chuckles softly, shaking his head and tilting your chin up. “If you want to do any sport, you need eye contact. Even when they’re all red and bloodshot.”

“Well your eyes are red too! I mean, oh my god!?” You cover your mouth, he laughs again softer this time. “I’m sorry, I like their color, they’re beautiful. Not to say I am hitting on you! Oh dear god…”

“Will you take a breath?” You shut your eyes, nodding. “A deep one, in… there you go, and out.”

Your breasts rise and fall, the sweater slipping further off a shoulder, as he takes in the mess that’s come to his doorstep – a beautiful, tragically broken mess that does something he can’t explain. When you swipe your cheeks and try to give a tremulous smile, you break whatever heart Sukuna has in his chest.

Who fucking hurt you like this?

Damage recognizes damage, but this…

“Don’t apologize a fourth time, yeah?” You nod then, sniffling a bit and attempting a better smile.

“I really just want to… apparently I need self care, my friends say, and I thought a gym might… help. But I can’t box, or kickbox.”

“Why not? You've got a lot of pent up tension," his hands brush down your shoulders softly, feeling the tenseness. "Bet you’d kill it."

"Me!?" You giggled nervously but he was serious, a huge handsome man crossing his arms and raising a brow, leaned back a bit in the quietness of his gym. "Kickboxing, huh?"

"Think you can't?"

You shake your head, and he sees it all over your face –

You don’t think you can do anything.

“Why not? Husband wants you all girlie or something?” He addresses the ring with a glance, you laugh without humor, your face darkening then.

“He doesn’t give a shit what I do, no, we’re not,” you trail off, shaking your head. “I dumped enough trauma on you just walking in here. What’s your name?”

“Sukuna,” he takes your hand, feeling yours just a little sweaty in his grip. “What do you mean doesn’t give a shit?”

“He doesn’t like me.” He blinks at that. 

“Trouble in paradise?”

You laugh again, shaking your head. “Let’s say he’s done more with his secretary than me so far,” Sukuna frowns at that, raising a dark brow. “It’s okay, really don’t feel bad for me. I just need something to get my mind off it.”

Who the fuck wouldn’t want you?

He almost says it, but he holds back, nudging his head now. “Lemme show you around the gym.”

He locks the door behind you so no random people try to come after hours, and you follow him through, looking up at the ceiling – it’s high, wooden beams running across it, it was once an old factory before Sukuna bought it off the guy. The walls are all red and orange brick, some of it is painted white, with graffiti art.

“That’s so cool,” you murmur, walking up to it then, touching it gently. “What is all of this?”

“Some of the guys like to come tag it,” he says, there are all sorts of images scrawled, along with Sukuna’s name in big red letters, little demon horns over the U. “I think they’re callin’ me the devil.”

“No!” You laugh, the sound so foreign to your own ears, he can just tell when you sober up a bit, smiling gently now. “You, the devil?”

“Mmm, you don’t know shit about me yet,” you blush a bit at the insinuation. “You’d run out if you knew what I was thinking.”

“You don’t have to be so… nice to me, okay? Because you feel bad.”

Sukuna blinks his pink lashes. “Huh?”

“I can tell, you’re a really good person,” you walk up to him, touching his hand now, sucking in a breath at the contact, fingers tracing his calloused, beat up knuckles. “Thank you though.”

“You think I’m pretending to find you attractive?” He almost can’t take you serious, but your face says it all. “Yeah, no, I’m not that nice. Now follow me before I say something real fucking dumb.”

You’re a flustered mess, letting your hand fall and nodding.

“This is where you’d like to be,” he mentions, toward the room with all of the normal equipment – treadmills, ellipticals, rowing machines, all sleek and black. “So you can just do your normal little workouts. Yoga mats and all.”

“Oh! I see,” you’re just a step behind him, he can inhale that perfume, he doesn’t know what scent it is but it’s driving him insane, when he stops and you bump into him. “Ah!”

He catches you quickly, frowning a bit at how weak you seem, assessing you. “You eat anything today?”

You blink a bit.

How'd he notice?

“No.”

“It’s six?”

“Yeah, not for a couple days,” you mumble. Sukuna glares at you, far, far too attractive and you’re not even fucking eating.

“If you have some… problem, you gotta tell me if I’m gonna train you, yeah?”

“No, nothing like that, just can’t eat when I’m sad,” your words are soft, barely over a whisper, running your fingers along the arm of a treadmill. “It’s been a few days I guess.”

“A few days, the fuck?” What sort of husband lets his wife just not eat?

He supposes the kind that makes her an unconfident, sad girl that cries the moment she enters a gym. Sukuna knows damn well he shouldn’t get involved in the shit, but just looking at you hurts him, in a way he’s not sure he’s felt, recognizing a version of himself so long ago, when he was young, when he wanted that approval, when he craved it so badly.

But more than that.

“If you don’t eat tomorrow I’ll be shoving food in your mouth,” you laugh at that, covering your mouth again. “I’m serious, the fuck you mean days?”

“I will make myself eat before I come.”

“And you’ll come at a decent time, yeah? Not before I close. Do I need to set three alarms to get your bratty ass up?”

“Bratty!?” you laugh again, shaking your head, the sight so fucking cute it destroys him.

God he’d drop to his knees just to kiss up those thighs, fucking lick you right over those leggings, the ones just a little snug against your puffy lips. And he can tell when you’re close how excited you are, the way your pupils blow out, the way you bite down on that lower lip, the one already chapped from likely biting it to death.

“No one has ever called me bratty,” you muse softly. “The opposite, actually.”

“Well maybe they don’t see it buried all in there, under a cute little fucking yoga outfit,” he brushes your hair back. His mistake, his undoing, and not kissing you is maybe the hardest thing he’s done.

You’re married.

He’s trying to give a fuck about that.

“C’mon brat,” you giggle again. “Here is the ring.”

You pause, looking at the huge rectangular boxing ring, surrounded by mats, boxing bags hanging heavy and worn all over, red and black ropes surrounding it. “Is this where you all practice?”

“Mhm,” he leads you over to a bag, touching it, old and black and hanging, one of his big hands touching it now. “Tomorrow you’ll punch it, today you didn’t eat so you don’t get to.”

“Mean,” your lips twitch though, the color to your face just brighter, your eyes glittering. Fuck you’re pretty sad, and happy, he can only imagine more. “All right, I promise, full breakfast.”

“Eat some dinner, too, then I’ll let you kick it.”

“The bag?”

“No, me.”

“What!?” You laugh again, Sukuna snorts and rolls his ruby red eyes, those pink lashes fluttering. “You’re joking, oh!”

“Yeah, a joke,” he tugs on that pony tail your hair is thrown in. “Two pm, don’t be late.”

When you’re gone he’s locking up, watching you slip into some bmw, waving a bit before you back up, wondering what’s this feeling in his heart, in his gut.

Sukuna loves women, he loves being inside them, pleasuring them, but he’s never just enjoyed making someone smile that much. Knowing you’re married should be a hell of a deterrent, whether he’s clearly a dick or not, Sukuna can’t just swoop in and be with married women.

Right?

Yet when he’s in bed that night, he finds himself throbbing, thinking of seeing your pretty face in pleasure. And he knows damn well whatever ‘morals’ he should have about it aren’t going to help him not make you feel good, in just any fucking way you need him to.

*****

You

“Never seen you eat so much,” Satoru murmurs when he walks in, lipstick across his neck, you’re downing some soup, realizing just how starved you were. “Have the chefs make something.”

“I just haven’t eaten in a week,” you say softly, Satoru’s eyes widen, then narrow a bit, while you dab at your mouth with a napkin. “I guess I’m hungry.”

“A week? What nothing here good, they can order anything.”

“I was too depressed,” the honesty is something you’d usually hold in, but something about meeting Sukuna today…

Everything about him.

The way he looked at you, that smirk was teasing, not cruel – he listened to you, he seemed to care, him a stranger. You know it’s nonsense, a man trying to be kind to a crying woman, but it meant a lot, even if that’s all it was. You’d walked in with a smile you haven’t had since you married him.

Satoru Gojo.

“A week? You can die from that shit,” he glares now, and you laugh, but this time it’s a mean little sound. “You think you can’t?”

“Sure, but what would you care?” You take a sip of the wine you’d poured, Satoru’s finest vintage, letting it dance along your tongue. “Wouldn’t it make your life easier if I did?”

His lips part, brows drawing together. “I don’t want you to fucking die, okay? Fuck.”

“You wouldn’t care,” you swirl the wine around, leaning back in the seat, eyes locked with the man you’ve tried so hard to make like you. To just come near you, to give you a chance. “I’m nothing to you.”

He says nothing in the quiet of the dining room.

“You didn’t notice.”

“Well, no I don’t eye your every move, figured you eat before I get home or some shit,” he runs a hand through his silky white locks, eyeing you carefully. “Do you want them to order something specific? Just because me and you will never be anything, doesn’t mean I want you to starve in my fucking house.”

“Nah, I like everything they have here,” you finish the wine in a gulp, an unladylike one that makes Satoru raise his brows, standing then, sighing. “It’s hard to eat when you can’t stop crying, when you constantly feel sick to your stomach knowing the man you live with hates your existence.”

You walk up and he says your name, you pause and look back at him. “I never said don’t eat, yeah?”

“No, you didn’t. But her lipstick is all over your neck, and up on that collar,” he touches it then, looking at the crimson on his pale fingertips. You step up to him, so close you inhale that scent. “Can you buy your sluts some decent fucking perfume, aren’t you rich?”

“What the fuck!?” You smile, you’ve never cussed, but it feels amazing in that moment, seeing him sputter. “What are you going on about, and what’s got your ass so fucking peppy?”

“Their knock off perfume, it’s all over you, every night. Buy them some Chanel or something, yeah? Not like you have to buy me anything, I have my own money. The scent makes me nauseous,” you turn again, Satoru grips your wrist, making you pause for just a moment, shutting your eyes.

Nothing, he feels nothing.

“Thought you didn’t cuss?”

“You don’t know me and you don’t want to.”

He lets you go, no argument, just quiet.

“I’m starting training at the gym,” you mention quietly. “I’ll be going there tomorrow.”

“Some yoga class?”

“Boxing.”

Satoru blinks, you just smile, tugging your wrist out of his grip. “You? Boxing?”

“Mhm, good night Gojo.”

You head up the stairs to your room, falling back on the bed, shutting your eyes, feeling good for the first time since that engagement party, for the first time in months there was something brimming under the surface. Some sort of hope.

Tonight you don’t hear him moaning, or talking to his girls, it’s quiet, and you’re thankful, shutting your eyes and falling into a deep sleep.

You’re haunted by two sets of eyes, two sets of hands, blue ones that are glaring, red ones that are hungry, long thin fingers choking your neck, suffocating you, thick ones painted black freeing you. Torn between them, claustrophobic in the darkness, where all you can see are their eyes. 

You wake up in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat, holding your racing heart, thrumming against your palm, before you fall back asleep, and there is only one pair of eyes.

And they’re red.

Tysm AGAIN for 30k my loves <3 this will be a doozy

Fred had caught you on your Wednesday night prefect rounds, pulling you into an abandoned classroom. It took only seconds for his lips to crash into yours as he pushed you against the closed door of the room.

He pulled your robes off of your shoulders, tossing them onto a nearby desk. The corner of his mouth tilted up in a smirk, and you knew that you were in for it.

Fred took your hand, bringing you to the front of the room by the professor's desk. He kissed you one more time before gripping you by the hips and bending you over the desk.

"Can you see it now, birdie?" he asked, leaning down over you to talk into your ear. "When you're a professor, I can bend you over your desk anytime."

His hand ran up the back of your thigh, causing your whole body to erupt in a shiver. It took only moments for him to undo his belt and pull up your skirt.

Fred was thrusting into you, causing a whimper to fall from your lips. "Shhhh, little bird. Wouldn't want anyone to hear you, huh?" Fred whispered, gripping your waist with his hands.

You bit your lip, trying to keep any sounds from escaping. Fred grabbed at your hair, pulling it as he fucked you over the desk. 

You could feel your climax begin to grow, and you pushed your hips back into Fred to meet his pace. A choked groan came from your throat, and Fred reached around to put his hand over your mouth.

"Now what did I say, darling?" he scolded, increasing his pace even more. "Are you really so desperate for all of Hogwarts to hear you scream my name?"

Your hands gripped the edges of the desk, holding on for dear life. Fred could have simply cast a silencing charm, but where was the fun in that?

You were moments your orgasm, pinching your lips together to keep silent. Fred knew exactly what he was doing to you, and it was torturous. You were determined to hold it together until his thumb found your clit, marking your downfall.

"Anyone home?" Cedric asked, waving a hand in front of your face. You jolted out of your thoughts, embarrassed to be caught daydreaming. Your cheeks immediately turned a vibrant shade of red.

Cedric chuckled. "It's alright, no one can focus with the Winter Ball happening this week. Even Cho is distracted," he said, trying to reassure you. "Are you still going with Fred?"

You nodded. You had been looking forward to going to the ball with Fred. Ever since the Hufflepuff party and the initial shock to Hogwarts of your relationship, things had been pretty tame. It wasn't the explosion of gossip like you had been expecting.

Cedric pushed back his stool, getting up to peer over into the cauldron. The water was ready, all you needed was to add in the ingredients correctly.

"I might need to memorize how to make this for when I make Cho angry," Cedric joked, looking over at you. 

You chuckled, nodding your head in agreement. You knew her temper all too well. "I'm sure the twins will be picking my brain about the recipe. Godric knows what they would get up to with invisibility potions," you replied, measuring out the knotgrass. 

"So do you get to know the plans for the pranks beforehand now that you're with Fred?" Cedric asked, stirring the cauldron. 

"Not usually," you answered. "My policy with them is that the less I know about the trouble they get into, the better. I'm not afraid to take away House points when necessary, but I don't want to do it when it's the twins."

"I can't imagine how strange it must be to be a prefect dating the biggest troublemaker at Hogwarts, seems like a conflict of interest," Cedric commented playfully, raising his eyebrows at you. "But it seems like you two get on quite well despite your differences."

You titled your head in consideration. You hadn't thought about the 'conflict of interest' aspect, but who cares? You aren't the only prefect at the school. Someone else can shout at the twins for their misbehaviors. 

"Our differences keep things interesting," you said. "If Fred dated someone exactly like him, this school would go up in flames. Someone has to keep him in line."

You and Cedric chuckled, beginning to add ingredients into the cauldron. You felt a flutter of pride in your chest at the fact that Cedric picked up on how well you and Fred worked as a couple. You didn't worry yourself with the approval of others, but it was nice to hear it regardless.

——

You plopped your backpack onto the floor, joining Fred on the couch in the Gryffindor common room. It had become routine for you to visit Fred in the evenings after you finished your homework in the library. He was usually in the common room with his twin playing cards or planning their next prank.

"I heard that you made invisibility potions today," George commented from his place across the room. He was playing cards with Angelina and Lee.

"So what if we did?" you retorted. The advanced Potions class you were in had the opportunity to create more exciting potions that other students weren't allowed to. The invisibility potions were one of the recipes that was not taught to students outside of the class.

"I know a couple of people that could use some of those," Fred chimed in, slinging his arm around your shoulders on the couch.

"Would those people have red hair? Because I've heard that invisibility potions don't work on red heads," you replied, cocking a brow at Fred.

"You might be smart, but you're full of shit," George said, calling your bluff. 

You picked up a pillow from the couch and chucked it at him. He caught it with one hand right before it would have smacked him in the face.

"You seem to forget that Fred and I have quidditch reflexes," George said, eyeing his brother mischievously.

"Now!" Fred shouted, picking up another pillow from the couch. He began smacking you with it, and George got up from playing cards to join him. You laughed as the twins continued to hit you with the pillows, a completely harmless attack.

"Do you feel better now?" you asked between giggles. Being with Fred meant that you also began to spend more time with George. You had grown to adore Fred's twin, and it felt like he was your own brother. No one could make you laugh quite like the twins.

"Only a tad," Fred answered, taking the pillow from George so he could return to his card game. "Want to come up to my room?"

Fred tossed the pillows back onto the couch and offered you his hand. You smirked, taking his hand and standing up onto your feet.

George made kissing noises at the two of you, turning around in his chair and wrapping his arms around himself to simulate a make out. This earned a giggle from you.

"There's something called knocking, you git," Fred said to his brother, trying to hide his smile.

"There's also something called a silencing charm, you freak," George replied, now moaning in an attempt to imitate Fred and you. 

Your hand flew up to your mouth to try to stifle your laugh. George had a point. For some reason, Fred didn't like using silencing charms. He would prefer for everyone to hear the sounds that you made. 

Fred simply yanked your hand and dragged you up the stairs, huffing at his brother. He opened the door to his dormitory, motioning for you to enter.

You had become a regular visitor to his dorm, and he even let you borrow pajamas when you stayed over. Fred crossed to his dresser, pulling off his uniform and putting on a t shirt and pajama bottoms instead. He tossed a large jumper at you.

"Would you like to stay tonight?" he asked, making his way to sit on his bed. 

You held the jumper in your hands, weighing your options. You could either stay the night with Fred and risk being tired tomorrow, or sleep in your own room and miss out on this precious time with Fred. Your busy schedule meant that you didn't have much time alone together.

"I'm not sure yet," you replied honestly, beginning to take off your own uniform to put on the jumper. "You'll have me all weekend, so I should probably focus on studying and finishing assignments before the craziness of the ball."

Fred watched you, passively admiring your curves as you changed in the dim light of his dorm. He had seen you naked quite a few times by this point, but he still found himself star struck whenever you so much as showed an extra inch of skin. 

You finished changing, pulling the jumper on over just your knickers. It was long enough that it landed at your mid thigh, and Fred loved how you looked in his clothes. You knew that he was itching to get his hands on you.

"You could take a break from studying for a week," Fred said, settling onto his bed as he watched you. "New potions aren't going to invent themselves overnight. You can pick it up again next week."

You crossed the room to join Fred in his bed. You wrapped your arms around him, pressing your face into his chest as you cuddled up to him. He held you, stroking your back as you took a deep breath.

"I know, I just really want to get into an Upper School. My exams for the Potions programs are in January, there isn't much time left," you said, still squeezing him tight. You had really been feeling the pressure of your upcoming exams, and Fred knew it.

He tangled his fingers through your hair, kissing you on the head as he played with the long strands. Fred always knew how to put you at ease. 

"You never talk about your plans after Hogwarts," you stated, moving to prop your chin on his chest so you could look at him. 

"That's because I'm not sure that I have any yet," he said, shrugging. His parents had been breathing down his neck about this, so the topic of future plans felt pretty sore.

"They don't have to be perfect plans," you replied, reaching up to run your thumb along his jaw. "If you could do anything in the world, what would it be? No matter how outlandish. I'll tell you my fantasy future."

"You go first," he said, leaning into your touch. 

"If I could do anything, I would start a new wizarding school. It would have houses, but it would be nothing like Hogwarts. We would study Potions and Herbology, and instead of playing Quidditch students would compete in Wizard's Chess tournaments. It sounds dorky and there's really no need for another school, but I think it would be fun to create something like that," you said, rambling on. "What about you?"

Fred let out a breath. "George and I want to run our own joke shop. We could sell our creations and show other people how to pull pranks. It would never be successful, but George and I would love doing it."

You pushed yourself up onto your elbows, looking into his eyes. "Freddie, that sounds amazing! You and George would be cracking at that, all of the students here would love to buy your joke items," you said excitedly, a smile on your face.

"Really?" Fred asked, his own smile starting to form.

"Really," you replied. "There's no one better than you two to open a shop like that. And you're both great at convincing people to do things, I'm sure those skills would translate well into sales."

"George and I have been dreaming about it for years. It's something that we would never get bored of," Fred said. "I've never told anyone about it before. Except for George, of course."

"I'm happy that you told me," you said, giving him a kiss on the lips. "You know that I believe in you. I would happily be your first customer."

"Just because you're pretty doesn't mean that you'd get a discount," Fred teased, tickling your side. 

You grabbed at his hand to stop the tickling, laughing at him. "Oh yeah? I'm sure I could find other ways to get a discount," you teased back, running your other hand up his chest.

"Maybe you should give a demonstration," Fred replied, smirking at you as he grabbed your hips and placed you on top of him.

——

It was finally Friday, and everyone was buzzing about the ball tomorrow night. You had managed to make it through the rest of the week without too many distractions, and you were caught up enough on homework that you could give Fred your undivided attention this weekend.

You were eating dinner with your friends, tucking into your dessert chatting about the ball. Beatrice had been rambling on about her dress even though she had already showed it to you several times.

"It's the perfect shade for my skin tone," Beatrice said. "Oliver won't be able to keep his hands off of me."

"We get it, Bea, we've seen your dress about 100 times," Cho said, taking another bite of her pudding. 

"But with my makeup and hair done, it'll look completely different," Bea said, looking for a reason to continue talking about her dress.

You were excited about your own dress. It was a maroon color with a frilly skirt. It was relatively simple, but it still made you feel beautiful. You couldn't wait for Fred to see it.

A paper butterfly floated its way over to your table, landing neatly next to your plate. You and your friends looked at each other in confusion for a moment until you picked it up and unfolded it.

Meet me in my dorm after dinner.

You knew it was from Fred. You looked up, scanning the faces of the other students in the hopes of finding Fred. You were unsuccessful, and instead folded up the note and put it into the pocket of your robes.

"What's that about?" Bea asked, propping her elbows on the table as she looked at you.

"Fred wants me to meet him after dinner," you answered, playing with the crust of the pie that was on your plate.

"He always has to be dramatic about it, doesn't he?" Cho pointed out. "Cedric should take notes, he could learn a thing or two from Fred."

The three of you giggled. Cho rarely said a kind word about Fred, but he was growing on her. He had that effect on people.

——

You made your way up the stairs towards Fred's dormitory. You were nervous for some reason, but you couldn't really understand why. You had been to his room countless times, but he didn't usually invite you over by sending a paper butterfly at dinner. It seemed like he was up to something.

You knocked on the door, fiddling with your fingers that you had clasped in front of you. A few seconds passed until Fred opened the door, a wide grin on his face.

"Close your eyes," he said, putting his hands over your eyes as he pulled you into the room.

"What in Godric's name are you up to now, Freddie?" you asked as he led you through the room.

"You'll find out in a second," he replied, bringing you to the bed. "Sit down."

You obliged, sitting down onto his bed. You heard papers rustling, and you were tempted to open your eyes. But you knew that Fred wanted whatever this was to be a surprise, so you obediently kept them closed.

"You can open them now," Fred said, sitting on the bed next to you. 

You opened your eyes, taking in the room before you. Fred had lit numerous candles and spread rose pedals around the room. It was like a scene from a romantic novel. It was cheesy, but you loved it.

You looked around, noticing that Fred had strung something up on the walls. "You should start from this end and work to the right," Fred said, directing you toward the door.

All around the room were sketches of you. The first was a sketch of your frustrated face. Your hair was braided, and you assumed that the sketch was of your confrontation in the courtyard.

The next was you in the Quidditch stands. Then you on your back on Fred's bed, his head between your legs. Your side profile as you looked out from the astronomy tower. Slow dancing to the record player. The first time you had butter beers with him and his friends at the Three Broomsticks.

You couldn't stop the tears that were rolling down your cheeks. Your hand was covering your mouth that was agape in absolute disbelief. Fred had chronicled your relationship in sketches. You had no idea that he was this talented.

The sketches continued in order along the walls of his room, and you didn't turn to him until you had looked at every last one. You finally looked at Fred. A soft smile was on his lips, and his eyes looked like they were shining. He had that look that he gave you once in a while that you were never quite able to place.

Fred closed the space between you, wiping the tears from your cheeks. He took your hands into his.

"Birdie....I don't even know where to start," he let out a chuckle, obviously a bit nervous. "I realized that I never asked you to be my girlfriend. We both kind of just assumed that we were together, but I wanted to be sure."

You giggled at him. He was right. You had never explicitly spoken about being together, it was something that fell into place naturally. 

"So I'm finally going to ask. Will you be my girlfriend?" Fred asked. 

"Of course I will, Freddie," you said, reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck. You kissed him on the lips, your cheeks still wet with tears.

"I'm not done yet," Fred said, pulling out of the kiss. He took your hand, walking you back to the bed. He sat down, motioning for you to join him.

"You and I have known each other ever since we got to Hogwarts. I always thought that you were cute, but your nose was so far into your books that I never tried to get to know you," Fred said, still holding your hand. "I have learned so much about you in these past few months. It has made me wonder how I ever was able to live without you before, how I could walk past you in the halls every day and not kiss you. I was missing out on so much, and I had no idea. But now I know you, and I also know that I'm in love with you."

Fred paused to take a breath. Tears continued to roll down your cheeks as you watched him in silence.

"I know that your last experience with love might not have been what you wanted it to be, but this is going to be different. Because I will spend every day making sure that you know that I love you. I will support you and your dreams. If that means you have to spend hours in the library and don't have as much time for me, I still support you. There is no one in the world who is as smart as you, as ambitious as you, as kind-hearted, patient, caring...I could go on for ages," Fred squeezed your hand, looking into your eyes. "I don't know a lot of things, but I do know for sure that I am in love with you. And I need you to know that. You are my weakness, and I think you have learned how to exploit that."

Fred gently poked at your side, trying to get you to laugh. A choked giggle came out of your mouth as you tried to wipe your tears.

"Darling, why are you crying?" Fred asked, his voice gentle. It was like he was afraid you were going to break like a piece of glass.

"This is just....I never expected this," you replied, taking breaths to try to gather yourself. "I don't know how else to respond to a gesture like this."

Fred squeezed your hand again, using his other hand to wipe a tear from your cheek. "Birdie, this is what you deserve."

You breathed out. You had been trying to remind yourself that you deserve good things. That you work hard and deserve success. That you are a good friend and deserve for that to be reciprocated. Fred somehow knew all of your insecurities and exactly how to make them vanish.

"Fred, this is....." you started, left speechless for a moment. "I love you too."

Your hands found his cheeks, taking his face into your hands. You kissed him, a sweet kiss that you hoped conveyed how much you loved him.

"How long have you known?" you asked, pulling back so you could look him in the eye.

"Known what?" he replied, finding your hand again and taking it into his.

"How long have you known that you loved me?" you said, rubbing the back of his hand with your thumb.

Fred looked down for a moment as he considered your question. "The astronomy tower. I think that's when I knew, I just didn't want to admit it yet," he answered.

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Wow...that was a long time ago," you said.

"Birdie, you are the only person who challenges me. Who always sees the best in me. You believe in me without a question. And you have been that way since the beginning. How could I not fall in love with you?"

You leaned in to kiss him again, this time biting at his bottom lip. Your hands found his hair, and he pulled you onto his lap. 

"You are so sentimental and I love you for it," you said, stroking his cheek. He smiled at you, kissing you once more. 

His kisses wandered from your mouth to your jaw down to your neck. Your hands were busy in his hair, pulling at it as he nipped at your sensitive skin. You leaned your head back, giving him full access to your neck. 

He undid your tie, tossing it to the side before working on the buttons of your shirt. 

"Someone seems impatient," you teased, scratching at his scalp with your nails. You were usually the one who pushed things along. Fred was willing to be patient for the sake of your comfort. 

"I've been dying to make love to you," he replied between kisses, now biting along your collar bone. He had already finished with the buttons of your shirt, and he waited for you to pull it off your shoulders.

You obliged, discarding your shirt so Fred could continue his trail of kisses. He stood up from the bed, picking you up for a moment before placing you on your back in the center of the bed. You opened your legs, and he slid between them so he could plant another kiss on your mouth.

He made quick work of your skirt, and soon you were left in only your undergarments on his bed. 

"What a view," he said, grinning at you as he moved to take off his own shirt and tie.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer," you teased at him.

"That's what the sketches are for," he said, already taking off his pants.

Fred came forward to kiss your lips again, your legs wrapping around his middle. His hands ghosted along your ribcage, wandering around to your back so he could unclasp your bra. 

You slid your bra straps down your arms, dropping it onto the floor next to the bed. Fred left hot kisses from your lips all the way down between your boobs. Your back was already arching off of the mattress, begging for more.

"I want to take my time with you tonight," he said between kisses, sucking a nipple into his mouth. You moaned in reply, hands flying to his hair.

He worked your other nipple with his fingers, eventually moving his mouth to give the other a turn. His searing kisses trailed down your stomach, stopping just above your navel. 

Fred's fingers played with the edge of your knickers, tickling along your hip bone. "May I?" he asked, looking up at you from his position between your legs.

"Yes. Please," you answered, your nails scratching along his muscular shoulders.

Fred pulled down your knickers, dropping them onto the floor. He kissed the side of your knee, working his way down your thighs toward your center.

"So gorgeous. Such a perfect girl," he mumbled, leaving love bites on your inner thighs. 

His hand hooked behind your knee, pushing it closer to your chest. His mouth migrated from your thighs to your hip bone, leaving kisses along your lower belly. 

One hand came down to your center while his other propped him up on the bed. His thumb found your clit, slowly working a circular pattern onto it. He still kissed along your belly, making you writhe with anticipation.

Fred dove one long finger into your opening, making you whimper. He was taking his time just like he said he would, but it was driving you insane. 

He was finally gracious enough to move his mouth down to your core, teasing your clit with the tip of his tongue. His finger still worked in and out of your opening, causing you to grip at Fred's hair. 

He picked up his pace, sucking your clit into his mouth as he added another finger into you. You were moaning his name, pulling at his hair as he pleasured you. 

You were so close to your release. Fred knew your body well enough that he could tell that you were close, so he continued exactly as he was. In his mind, you two were just getting started.

You finally reached your high, arching off of the bed as you pulled on a fistful of fiery hair. Fred eased you down, leaving gentle kisses on your thighs before moving to kiss you on the lips. 

"I love you," he said, brushing your nose with his as he looked into your eyes.

"I love you too," you replied, still catching your breath after your orgasm. The moment was sweet and endearing, but you wanted more.

You reached for Fred's waistband, raising your eyebrows at him suggestively. "I'm going to be on top this time, pretty boy," you said, a smirk creeping across your mouth.

Fred's face lit up. He had always taken control during sex, but he wasn't upset about this change. You were nervous about being on top; you had never tried it before. But tonight felt like the right time.

You switched positions on the bed, with Fred laying on his back. You straddled him, and Fred sat up and kissed along your collarbone and shoulders. 

"I think you were made for me," he said between kisses. His words made a shiver run down your spine.

He was straining against the fabric of his underwear, and you knew exactly how to help him. You pushed his shoulders back, forcing him to lay down onto the bed.

"What do you want, Freddie?" you asked, trying to make your voice sound sweet and innocent.

"Anything," he answered, running his hands along your hips. He wanted to take his time, but he was starting to get desperate. 

"Hmmmm...I'll have to decide for you then," you said, tracing your nails down his chest. Your fingers landed at the edge of his boxers, toying with it.

You could feel Fred shiver beneath your touch. A smirk spread across your lips. Having this power over him felt addictive. 

You pulled at his boxers, taking them all the way down his legs and tossing them onto the floor. You kissed along his abs while one hand reached down to grip him.

Fred sucked in a breath. He had been anticipating your touch. You continued your kisses down to his hip bones, working him with your hand.

You peered up at him. His mouth was open slightly, and his pupils were dark. You had him right where you wanted him.

"Do you want something?" you asked, blinking at him through your eyelashes. 

"I...your mouth," he said, stuttering a bit. He was flustered.

You brought your trail of kisses down further, and you dared to dart out your tongue to tease his tip. He shuddered in response.

You had enough of teasing him. At least for now. You took him into your mouth, still using your hand to work the rest of him that didn't fit. Fred groaned, his hands finding your hair.

"Fuck, birdie. Feels so good," he said, watching you as you worked him deeper into your throat. 

You could feel his muscles tensing, but you didn't want him to finish like this. You pulled your mouth off of him, propping yourself up with your hands on his thighs.

"I couldn't let you finish like that, Freddie," you said, your voice soft. "I know what you want. You just need to beg for it."

Fred huffed. "Beg?" he asked in disbelief. This sounded like the kind of thing that he usually did to you. 

"It's your turn to be desperate. Or we could stop, that's alright too," you replied, taking your hands off of his thighs. You started as if you were going to get off the bed, but he grabbed your wrist.

"Please," he said, his eyes boring into yours.

"Oh Freddie, you know you can do better than that. So insincere," you teased, running your nails up his thighs.

You moved so you were straddling his middle. You played with his hair, looking down at him. He was stubborn, not wanting to give in to you. But he also wanted you, and that meant that he would have to play along.

"Birdie, please. I need you," he whined, bringing his hands to your hips.

"I know," you replied, grinning at him. His eyes were pleading with you. You had to give in to him.

You pushed your hips back, using your hand to find him. He still held on to your hips as you aligned him with your entrance, slowly working yourself down onto him.

Fred breathed out, gripping onto your hips harder. You supported yourself with your hands on his chest, trying to find a comfortable pace. You had never been on top before, so this was unfamiliar territory. 

Fred's hands slid up to your sides. He pulled you forward, kissing your lips. You kissed him back, your hands now propped on either side of his head. You moved your hips up and down, still feeling a bit unsure of what to do.

Fred's lips moved to your ear. "Would you like some help, darling?" he whispered.

"Please," you replied, letting out an embarrassed chuckle. 

Fred took back some control, using his own hips to meet yours. You increased your pace, meaning that Fred also increased his.

You pulled yourself back up, putting your hands on his chest once again. He grabbed your hips, moving you up and down to match his rhythm.

"Fuck, Freddie. Just like that," you cried, digging your nails into his chest. 

He continued like this, bringing a hand down to your center. His thumb found your clit, working it as you rode him. You let out a whine, feeling overwhelmed by the pleasure. 

"So good for me, birdie. Such a good girl," he praised. "Are you going to finish for me?"

You moaned as he increased the pace once more. You were close to your finish, but you wanted him to finish too.

"Not until you finish for me," you managed to say between moans. He had you on the brink.

"I'm close, darling. So close," he replied, digging his hand into your hip.

Fred continued, and soon enough you were crying out. "Freddie, so good. Don't stop."

You reached your orgasm, maintaining Fred's brutal pace so he could reach his own. It only took a few more moments.

"Fuck, that's it, birdie," he said as he finished, his hips stuttering into you. You both slowed your hips, and you collapsed onto his chest.

You were both breathing hard and sweaty. You stayed on top of him, burrowing your face into the crook of his neck.

"That was...." Fred started, chuckling. "You never cease to amaze me."

You picked up your head, exhausted from your effort. "I aim to please," you replied, shooting a wink at him.

"Oh, shove off," you laughed, heading toward his bed and throwing yourself onto it. "After that big scene, I think I need a nap."

Fred walked over to where you were face down in his pillows. He spanked your butt lightly.

"Come on, birdie, you can't take up the whole bed," he complained, running a hand down your butt and onto the backs of your thighs.

"Fine," you grumbled in fake frustration, rolling over to make room for Fred in his own bed.

Fred joined you in the bed, rolling you onto your side so you could cuddle into his chest. He stroked your hair, giving you a kiss on the forehead.

"Can I tell you something?" he asked, still stroking your hair.

"Anything," you replied, nuzzling your head into his chest.

"I really like you," he said, suddenly sounding very serious.

Your hand played with the neckline of his t shirt as you considered your response. Now didn't feel like the best moment to crack a joke.

"I like you too, Fred," you answered. 

"No, I mean..." Fred stumbled over his words. He rolled onto his side so he could look you in the eye. "I know what my reputation is like with girls. I don't date anyone very seriously and I just like hooking up. But that's not what this is, birdie. I feel serious about you."

"Oh," was all you could think to say as he continued to stare into your eyes. This was giving you flashbacks to conversations with Adrian where he was insistent on planning your future together. 

"You told me that Pucey wanted to get serious too quickly, and that's not what I'm trying to do," he said, seeming to read your mind and sense your worries. "We have all the time in the world. But I need you to know that I feel that way."

"Fred...." you were still having a hard time finding the right thing to say. Nothing came to mind. 

"I realized today that going even just a day without speaking to you feels like torture," he admitted. "I'm sorry for reacting that way, and I'm sorry for how it made you feel. You're my favorite person to talk to and spend time with. I won't ever ignore you like that again."

You reached your hand up to cup his cheek. Your mind went back to the conversation that you had with Beatrice at the Three Broomsticks, admitting to how deep your feelings went for Fred. He was spilling his feelings, but it still felt so difficult to admit to your own.

Fred's hand found your waist, rubbing his thumb against the fabric of your shirt. It's almost like he was trying to beckon the words out of you.

"I...Godric, Freddie, I'm not good at this," you said, letting out an awkward chuckle. 

"Take your time, darling," he soothed, squeezing your waist in reassurance.

"I really like you too," you finally said. "I think....I think that you're really good for me. You tease me about being the perfect prefect, but that's what I have been ever since I got to Hogwarts. And being that way is actually quite boring."

Both you and Fred chuckled at that admission.

"But you make me try new things. And I feel spontaneous for the first time. Instead of being controlled by getting good marks and being the best student, you have helped me take initiative of my own life," you said. "I adore you and I am learning to adore the person that I am when I'm with you."

Fred's eyes were still locked on yours. The sentimental softness that you loved returned to his eyes, and he leaned forward to kiss you on the lips.

It was sweet and gentle. Only a few kisses before he pulled away. 

"You inspire me to want to do my homework," Fred teased, tickling your side.

You laughed, grabbing at his hand. "You improve me, I improve you."

You pushed him over onto his back and nuzzled into his chest, his hand snaking around your back to pull you in closer. You laid like this for a while, listening to each other's quiet heartbeats and enjoying each other's touch. 

"Freddie?" you said quietly.

"Yes, birdie?" he replied, rubbing your back with his hand.

"I'm ready," you said, sounding shy.

"Ready for what?" he asked, somewhat confused.

"I'm...I'm ready to have sex. Whenever you are, of course," you fumbled over your words a bit awkwardly, feeling heat rise to your cheeks.

You tried to bury your face into Fred's neck, but he refused to let you. He knew that you were flustered.

"Darling, you don't have to feel embarrassed," he said, grabbing your jaw to turn you to look at him. "Thank you for telling me."

He placed a light kiss on the tip of your nose before releasing your jaw. 

"I'm going to put on pajamas, I can't lay in bed with jeans on. Feels like a crime," Fred said, getting up from the bed.

He crossed the room to his dresser, pulling open the bottom drawer and grabbing pajamas from it before closing it. You were still turned onto your side on the bed, giving you a perfect view of Fred across the room.

He pulled his t shirt over his head, throwing it onto the floor next to him. You had never seen him shirtless before.

In the dim light of the dormitory, you could make out his chiseled figure. Years of quidditch had made him strong and lean, and your cheeks flushed as you realized that you were checking him out.

"Enjoying the show, birdie?" he teased, picking up his abandoned shirt from the floor and tossing it at you.

This made you blush even harder. You sat up on the bed, pondering your next move.

You watched as he undid his belt and trousers, throwing his trousers into a laundry bin before reaching for the pair of pajama pants that he had retrieved from the drawer. He pulled them on, turning to where you were sat on the bed. 

"Everything alright, darling?" he asked, confused by your silence and empty expression.

You had been chewing on your lower lip, trying to muster up the courage for what you were about to do. You scooted to the edge of the bed, putting your feet on the floor. 

You crossed the room to where Fred was still standing. You kissed him on the lips only once, leaving him even more confused.

You pulled your own t shirt up and off, tossing it away. Fred's eyebrows raised as he took in the sight of you before him.

This time, you came prepared. You were wearing a deep blue bra with black lacing along the straps. It was the sexiest thing that you owned, and you had a feeling that Fred was going to see it tonight.

"House colors, how appropriate," Fred teased, ghosting his fingers along your sides and up your back. 

Your heart was already racing and he had barely even touched you. You were nervous, but you were ready. You wanted this. 

You dared to reach out to touch him, running your nails down his sides. You stopped at the waistband of his pajama pants, gripping them and tugging him closer to you.

He chuckled, enjoying your boldness. You kissed him again, your hands trailing back up his sides and to his muscular shoulders. 

He let you take control, keeping his hands politely at the middle of your back as yours roamed around his bare shoulders. You pushed him back, pulling away once again.

You fumbled with the button of your jeans. "Want to borrow a pair of pajamas?" Fred teased, watching you struggle.

"No, Fred," you replied, rolling your eyes at him. You had finally gotten the button free, undoing the zipper and starting to pull your jeans down your legs. "I want you."

Fred waited patiently for you to step out of your jeans before he picked you up. You giggled, wrapping your legs around his middle while he carried you back to the bed.

He held you for a moment, planting wet kisses along your jawline before setting you onto the bed. He attacked your lips next, his teeth biting at your lower lip while his hands ran along your thighs.

You dug your nails into his back, trailing down toward his waistband once again. You pulled at it, signaling to him that he should take the pajamas off. Fred paused his mission for a moment to take off his pants, immediately returning to your mouth. 

You pulled away, grabbing at Fred's shoulders. "Lay down," you commanded.

Fred listened, laying down on the bed. You positioned yourself over him, one thigh on either side of his middle. 

He was loving this view. You had been intimate before, but not quite like this. You were in only your bra and knickers, a smirk on your mouth as you loomed over him. He couldn't think of anything in the whole world that could be sexier.

You left hot kisses along his jaw and down his neck, bringing up one hand to grip the other side of his neck. Your kisses continued down to his collarbones where you sucked a number of love bites into his skin. It was payback for what he usually did to you.

Fred's hands ran up and down your back, playing with the clasp of your bra as he decided whether or not to take it off. He didn't want to rush you, but he had been dying to get a bra off of you for a long time.

You finally gripped one of his hands that was on your back, stopping it. "You can take it off," you whispered, reassuring him.

You released his hand, allowing him to undo the clasp. He reached for the straps, pulling them down your arms as he removed your bra.

Fred bit his lip. He ran his thumbs underneath your breasts, gripping your ribcage with his hands. He sat up, giving you a kiss on the lips before kissing along the tops of your breasts.

It took only moments for him to suck one of your nipples into his mouth. Your nails dug into his shoulders in response, a whimper falling from your lips. 

He bit and sucked at one nipple and used his fingers to play with the other. All you could do was run your nails up and down his back while you moaned out his name.

"Mmm...so beautiful," he spoke into your skin as he switched his mouth to your other nipple.

Your hands found their way into his hair, pulling at it to distract yourself from what Fred was doing to you. You began to grind your hips into his, becoming desperate for more friction.

"So needy, huh?" Fred commented, releasing your nipple from his mouth and kissing along your ribs. 

Your hips ground down even harder, begging for contact. You could feel how hard he was through his underwear, and you knew he wanted this too. But Fred was playing the long game.

His fingers danced down to your knickers. "Can I make you feel good, darling?" he asked, looking up into your eyes.

You nodded at him, your words caught in your throat. Fred lifted you off of him for a moment so he could remove your knickers. He laid back down on the bed, a grin on his face.

"Why don't you come sit on my face?" he said, his thumbs rubbing circles into your hips. 

Your cheeks flushed. This was something you had never done before. It seemed impractical and potentially even dangerous.

"I don't know, Fred," you said, feeling shy. "I don't want to hurt you."

Fred moved one hand up to your cheek. "Darling, I promise that it won't hurt me. Now that I think about it, suffocating between your thighs wouldn't be the worst way to go."

He smirked at you. You slapped at his chest. "Get off it, Fred," you chastised, a small smile playing at your own mouth.

"How about we give it a try and you can stop if you don't like it?" Fred proposed, squeezing your hip. 

"Okay," you agreed hesitantly, feeling deeply self conscious.

You placed your hands on his chest, slowly moving yourself up his middle. You weren't exactly sure how to do this.

"How do I—" you began to ask before Fred gripped your hips, picking you up and settling you over his face.

"I guess that'll do it," you chuckled nervously, your hands finding the headboard of Fred's bed.

"Tell me if you want to stop," Fred said. You could feel him breathing on your core, making you shiver.

He pulled your hips down, your core meeting his mouth. You were holding your breath. His tongue darted out, immediately finding your clit. It seemed like he already had your body memorized, knowing exactly how to make you feel good. 

Your hands gripped at the headboard as Fred's tongue increased its pace. Your entire body felt hot, and you tried to keep yourself from grinding your hips down into his mouth. 

Fred angled your hips forward, allowing him to drag his tongue down to your entrance. His fingers dug into your hips as he fucked you with his tongue, making you feel like you were going to scream.

"Just like that, Freddie," you encouraged, finally finding your voice.

You allowed yourself to grind your hips down ever so slightly, and Fred responded with a groan. He squeezed your hips tighter, encouraging you to continue.

Fred's mouth found its way back up to your clit, sucking it into his mouth as you ground your hips into him. You were so close to your release.

"Fred—ahh, don't stop," you cried out, holding onto the headboard for dear life. 

You only needed a few more moments before you reached your orgasm, whimpering out Fred's name as your hips trembled. He pulled you from his mouth, laying you onto the bed on your back as he hovered above you. 

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" he said, kissing up your jaw and to your lips.

You stayed like this for a few minutes, kissing Fred as you were still feeling the glow of your orgasm. You wrapped your legs around him, pulling him in as close as you could.

You pulled out of the kiss, bringing a hand up to ruffle his hair. You smirked at him.

"I think it's your turn now," you said, using your other hand to ghost down his chest toward his boxers. You reached the waistband and pulled at it, letting it slap back against his skin.

"Birdie, tonight is about you," Fred said, placing kisses along your neck.

The hand you had at his waistband continued down, your thumb teasing him over his boxers. If you thought he was hard before, he was definitely hard now. You imagined that it almost had to be painful. 

You suddenly felt bold, gripping Fred over the fabric of his boxers. His breath stuttered.

"I want you, Freddie," you whispered, trying to play up your innocence. He stopped kissing your neck, reeling back to look you in the eye.

"Are you absolutely certain?" Fred asked, his eyes soft. He was more than willing to wait. You were worth it.

"One hundred percent," you answered, pecking him on the lips. You felt a nervous pit in your stomach, but it wasn't the bad kind. It felt more like anticipation. 

"If you ever want to stop—" Fred started, but you brought a finger up his lips to shush him. 

"Freddie, I won't want you to stop," you said, your eyes intense. 

That was all the permission he needed before he started kissing your lips again, this time seeming more desperate. He reached for one of the pillows behind your head, breaking the kiss as he pulled you up off of the bed and put the pillow under your hips.

You looked at him, a bit confused. He smirked. "Darling, I know a thing or two," he answered, placing a kiss on your knee.

He pulled his boxers off, tossing them to the side before he found his place between your legs again. Your hands were folded on your bare stomach as you waited for him to do something.

He reached for your hands, holding them in his. He noticed that you were shaking just slightly.

"We don't have to do this," he whispered, reassuring you.

"Fred, I want to," you insisted. "It's just nerves. It's been a while."

You chuckled, trying to dispel any anxiety you had.

"Okay," he said, placing a kiss on each of your wrists. "Stop me if it hurts."

You nodded. Fred released your hands, using his own to trace a path up your outer thighs. He gripped the backs of your knees, pulling your legs up just slightly.

You felt his tip as he aligned himself with your entrance. Your heart was pounding in your chest. Fred eased himself in slowly, releasing a breath that you didn't realize he was holding. 

You felt a familiar burn as he got deeper, stretching you to accommodate his size. Fred grabbed your hands, placing them up next to your head. 

He held your hands as he rocked into you slowly, kissing gently along your collarbone. He pulled back to look you in the eye.

"Alright, birdie?" he asked, his words sounding strained. You knew that he was holding himself back for your sake. Everything he did was for your benefit. 

You nodded. "Keep going," you said.

He kissed you on the forehead. He met your eyes again as he pushed into you, this time all the way. Fred choked out a groan, feeling the pleasure of finally bottoming out into you.

Fred kissed you on the lips before releasing your hands. He traced a path down your sides and back to your thighs, pushing your knees closer to your chest.

He was still moving slowly, trying not to hurt you. But you didn't care if you were sore in the morning, you wanted more.

"Fred?" you said quietly.

He stopped moving. "Yes, darling?" he answered, concern laced in his voice.

"Harder," you said, bringing your hands to his back. You traced his muscles with your nails.

He smirked at you, not expecting this response. "Careful what you wish for," he muttered, gripping your thighs even harder.

Fred picked up his pace, pushing into you harder than he had before. Your nails dug into his back, begging him for more.

"More, Freddie, more," you whined.

Fred pulled almost all the way out of you before slamming back into you again. You cried out, arching your back off of the bed.

Fred was fucking you even faster now, hitting the deepest spot in you each time. You were basically clawing at his back now, and you knew that there would be marks left behind.

"You feel so good, birdie," he said, pounding into you. "So tight. Such a good girl."

You whimpered at his words, feeling another orgasm building. Fred brought his thumb to your clit, rubbing it as he continued to fuck you mercilessly.

"Are you going to finish again for me darling?" he asked. "Come on gorgeous, finish for me. Right on my cock. Be a good girl."

As if his actions weren't enough, Fred's words sent you over the edge. You orgasmed for the second time that night, crying out as Fred continued to hit the perfect spot inside of you.

He slowed down, grabbing your hand and kissing the back of it. He worked you down from your high, slowly pulling out of you.

"So perfect," he commented, kissing your hand again before putting it back down on the bed.

You laid there for a moment in a daze, feeling like you were unable to move after that second orgasm. Fred knew exactly what to do to make you finish, and it blew your mind every time. 

You finally got your wits about you. "Fred, you didn't finish," you said, sounding a tad offended.

He chuckled. "Not your fault. I could go all night, darling."

You gripped his arms. "Then keep going," you said, looking at him.

"I don't want to hurt you," he said, stroking the outside of your thigh with his hand.

"Fred, it doesn't hurt. I want you to keep going," you insisted.

"It might not hurt now, but you're going to be sore tomorrow morning," he replied, meeting your gaze. "I can finish myself off. I already told you that tonight is about you."

You huffed. "If tonight was really about me, you would keep fucking me," you asserted, narrowing your eyes at him.

He smirked at you for what felt like the millionth time that night. "Okay, bossy. I guess I have to listen to the prefect when she orders me around," he teased. 

"Less talking, more fucking," you shot back at him. 

He chuckled. "My lips are sealed," he replied.

Fred turned you over onto your side, pulling your knees up so they were close to your chest. He slid into you again, this time finding less resistance. 

He worked in and out of you slowly, driving you absolutely insane. He knew exactly what he was doing, and he was enjoying your impatience.

"Frederick Weasley, you can do better than that," you said, your voice snippy.

He shrugged in response. Apparently he was taking his vow of silence seriously. 

He increased his pace ever so slightly, pushing your knees up even higher to hit a better angle. You cried out as he hit the perfect spot, desperate for him to do it again.

But that was part of his game. He pushed into you just barely deep enough, not hitting the spot again. He smirked at himself, proud of his work.

"Fred, I will curse you into next week if you don't knock it off," you said, becoming irritated.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Fred replied, feigning innocence.

"Do I really need to do everything myself?" you shot back.

"All you have to do is ask nicely," Fred said, still thrusting into you slowly. 

"Fuck off," you said, determined not to give in to what he wanted. 

"If you insist," he said, pulling out of you. 

It was a battle of the wills. Both of you were stubborn. But he wanted to make you give in.

"Fine," you huffed, exasperated. "Please?"

Fred chuckled. "You can do better than that."

You bit your lip, trying to step past your pride. "Please, Freddie. I want you," you said, sounding much more sincere this time.

"See birdie, it's not that difficult," Fred said, turning you over onto your stomach. He pushed your chest down and your bottom up, forcing you to arch your back.

He lined himself up behind you, his tip at your entrance. His hands squeezed at your sides.

"Are you going to beg for it?" he muttered into your ear.

He had you right where he wanted you. Desperate. Frustrated. He loved making the prefect beg.

"Please," you said once again, sounding even more desperate this time.

"Mmmm....not convincing enough," Fred replied, his hands roving down your sides and to your bottom. 

"Fred, please," you basically whined, trying to push your hips back onto him. If he wasn't going to take care of you, you were going to do it yourself.

"So desperate," Fred chided. "I'm not sure that you really are a good girl after all."

He finally pushed into you, taking you by surprise. He worked in and out of you, picking up speed quicker than he had before. 

"You're a bad girl, huh?" Fred commented, reaching around to grip your throat lightly. "The prefect is a bad, bad girl."

He thrusted into you even harder, finally hitting that spot that drove you crazy. You felt like a mess. You knew that your hair was wild and that you were likely covered in love bites. But you were loving it. 

You whined at Fred, pushing your hips back into him to meet his brutal pace. Fred was starting to lose control as he got closer to his own release, both hands now gripping your hips. There would definitely be bruises there in the morning.

"So close," you cried, gripping at the comforter on Fred's bed.

"Finish for me again, birdie. You can do it, love," Fred encouraged. "Merlin, you feel so good. Made just for me."

You were so sensitive after two orgasms that a third felt like it might kill you. Your vision began to get spotty, and you knew that you were going to finish any second now.

You finally reached your third high of the night, arching your back even harder and pushing back towards Fred. He continued fucking you, moments from his own release.

"Fuck, birdie, so perfect," Fred breathed out. "You're going to make me bust."

It seemed like he was almost asking for permission. How polite. 

"Inside of me," you demanded, sounding exhausted from your third orgasm.

Fred groaned, keeping up his pace as he finally reached his release. He finished inside of you, his hips slowing down and stuttering. 

He massaged your hips, pushing into you a few more times before pulling out. "Sorry, darling, didn't mean to hurt you," he said, referring to the bruises that were already starting to form where he had dug his hands into your hips. 

He flopped onto his back, pulling you into his chest. You felt paralyzed once more, your body still coming down from the adrenaline rush of another orgasm.

Fred kissed your forehead, snuggling you in even closer to him. "Was that too much?" he asked, sounding concerned.

You laid there in silence, still speechless. You nuzzled your head into his neck, giving him a kiss. "It was perfect," you finally said.

He chuckled. "I'm glad," he answered, rubbing your back.

"Same time next week?" you teased, running your nails up and down his abs.

"Whenever you want," he replied, squeezing you in tight. 

----

"He's so dreamy," Beatrice swooned. "If he doesn't ask me to be his date, I might use a curse on him."

"Do you talk about anything other than Wood?" Cho snapped, clearly annoyed.

Cho's relationship with Cedric Diggory had been on the rocks. She had a bit of a jealous streak, and watching other girls fawn over Cedric got on her nerves. They'd been arguing about it nonstop for the past month.

"Cho, leave her alone," you said defensively. "She's allowed to be chuffed about Wood. You were the same with Diggory. I get that you're brassed off, but that's not Bea's fault."

Cho glared at you, huffing. She knew you were right. "Who are you going with? Seems like Adrian is your only option," she said, veering the conversation topic away from herself.

"I'm definitely not going with Adrian," you said empathically. "I don't need to have a date, I'm not worried about it."

"Maybe Fred will ask you," Beatrice teased, nudging you. "He seems pretty fond of you."

"I'd rather go to the ball with a toad than Fred Weasley," Cho asserted.

"Godric Cho, pull the stick out of your arse, will you?" you said, clearly irritated with her. 

You still hadn't filled Cho in about your situation with Fred. The only thing she would do is make snarky remarks and tell you that it's a bad idea. She was too worried about her squeaky clean reputation to see any value in associating with the Weasley twins. It pissed you off.

"I think I'm actually going to skip out on dinner, I'll grab something from the kitchen elves later. I want to get a start on my Potions assignment," you said as you had reached the Great Hall.

It was just an excuse to not have to sit through dinner with Cho. You could barely stand her recently, and taking some space felt like a good decision. 

Beatrice squeezed your hand in a goodbye, and Cho only shrugged and rolled her eyes. You turned to head for the library, wanting some peace and quiet after dealing with Cho's attitude.

You were only paces from the library when you ran in to the Weasley twins. 

"Hey birdie," Fred greeted you. "Heading back into your abyss?"

"My abyss?" you questioned.

"The library," he said matter-of-factly. "They should give you a cot so you can sleep there, would save you a trip to your dormitory."

"Have you two even seen the inside of the library? Or do your pranks occupy too much of your time?" you asked, crossing your arms and jutting out a hip. You raised your eyebrows at them expectantly.

George chuckled, enjoying the attitude that you were hurling at his brother. Very few people had the guts to stand up to Fred.

"You can show me if you'd like," Fred retorted, stepping closer to you. "Though I can't promise that I'll be much interested in doing homework, if you know what I mean."

You bit the inside of your cheek. These flirty showdowns were routine between you two, but somehow it was more embarrassing when someone was watching. Like George. But that didn't mean that you were going to let Fred win.

"I would be willing to tutor you again, Merlin knows that your grades need it," you said, closing the space between you and Fred. You reached for his tie, playing with the end. "It'll cost you, though."

George cleared his throat, an attempt at reminding you two that he was still there. It didn't matter though, both of you were locked in to this battle.

"Name a price, darling," Fred muttered, his hands ghosting underneath your robes and finding a place on your hips. 

You looked up at him, trying to soften your gaze to appear innocent. You were going to put the nail into his coffin.

You stood on your toes so you could whisper in his ear. "I keep having a dream where you bend me over a desk in Potions class. That sounds like a sufficient payment to me."

You nipped at his ear before pulling away, grinning at him sweetly as if you hadn't just whispered something filthy in his ear. Fred stared at you, a slight blush in his cheeks in response to your words. He still wasn't used to your boldness.

"Are you two going to shag in the hallway or what?" George piped up, causing his twin to turn around and give him a slap to the chest. 

"We were on our way to dinner. And I am still very hungry, in case you have forgotten," George said, directing his last sentence at Fred. It was a not so subtle reminder for him to keep things moving. 

"Did you have dinner already?" Fred asked after giving George a glare.

"No," you responded. "I was going to get something from the kitchen elves later."

"Then why don't we do that," Fred proposed. "George, you can go on to dinner. I'm sure you won't miss me."

George shrugged and offered you a wave before he headed off in the direction of the Great Hall. You hadn't been intending to spend your evening with Fred, but you could think of worse things you could be doing instead. Like sitting through dinner with Cho.

"The kitchen elves love me," Fred said sarcastically. "You'll have to do your prefect sweet talking to get them to hand over the goods."

——

After getting some sustenance from the kitchen elves, you and Fred ended up back in his dormitory. He wanted to show you the music player that Hermione had gotten him for his birthday last year. It was Muggle technology, and he found it incredibly fascinating.

"What is it called again?" you asked as you settled onto his bed. You propped yourself up with a pillow, waiting for him to work the music player.

"I think Hermione called it a record player," he replied, fiddling with the machine. "You have to put these records on it to make it play music."

He held up a few of the records in his collection. To you, they just looked like big black discs. 

Fred finally settled on a record and put it on the machine, adjusting the volume. It was something you had never heard before.

"This is from a band called Mother Mother," Fred explained. "Hermione says that they're pretty edgy."

He finally joined you on the bed, leaning up on the wall behind him. You both sat there listening to the music for a bit, content without conversation.

"I've been wondering..." Fred started, looking over at you.

"Oh no," you teased. You jokingly put your head in your hands.

"I haven't even said it yet, you git," Fred replied, pulling your hands from your face. You grinned at him, and he grinned back.

"I wanted to know how you started dating Pucey in the first place," he said.

You breathed out. You knew that Fred was curious about your relationship with Adrian. Everyone at Hogwarts knew that you were dating last year, and it took most people by surprise when they found out that you had broken up.

"Adrian's dad is my dad's boss," you answered. "We've gone on holiday together every year since we were kids. The summer before 5th year, he suddenly fancied me. That's pretty much it, I guess."

"That's it?" Fred questioned. "You didn't put him through trial after trial like you're doing to me?"

He flicked at your thigh, emphasizing his teasing. 

"Adrian was different. I was younger then, less experienced. And no one had been interested in me before," you said. 

"There's no way that can be true," Fred said, adjusting his position on the bed. "You've always been pretty. I'm sure lots of blokes have fancied you."

"If they did, none of them told me," you replied, letting out a dry chuckle. This topic was a bit of a sore spot for you. You had always felt like you weren't pretty enough, as you hadn't drawn the attention of the boys like some of the other girls at Hogwarts. But this insecurity subsided a bit as you got older. Who needed attention from a boy when you could have good grades?

You and Fred sat in silence for a moment. He seemed to be thinking about what to say next. 

"Of all of the blokes at Hogwarts, you chose a Slytherin?" Fred asked, half joking and half serious.

You slapped at him. "I don't care what House someone is in. I dated Adrian because he fancied me, and I was tired of all of my friends having boyfriends. Adrian is smart, and he's good looking. And whether you like to admit it or not, he's cracking at quidditch."

"Cracking is a bit of an overstatement," Fred replied. "Did you even fancy Pucey then?"

You shrugged. "I liked the companionship. We had always been friends. It wasn't difficult to turn it into something more. And I wanted to keep up with everyone else at Hogwarts who was snogging and shagging anyone they could get their hands on. Adrian felt like a safe option."

"So it sounds like you never really liked him," Fred said, leaning his head on your shoulder.

"I liked him, but I didn't love him," you answered. "He really loved me. And I still feel bad about that. But I just....my heart wasn't in it."

"Is that why you broke up?" he asked.

"Part of it. He wanted things to get more serious. Slytherin pureblood families are really intense about dating and marriage, and he wanted to consider next steps. I wasn't ready, and I wanted to focus on academics," you said. "I didn't want to break his heart. And I know that he still really cares about me, but I'm not cut out for a life like that."

"What, you mean that you don't want to be the next Narcissa Malfoy? I can't imagine why not," Fred teased, poking at your side. 

"Shut it," you replied, slapping at his hand. "I'm not made to be a pureblood trophy wife who pops out perfect pureblood babies. I want a career."

"That makes sense," Fred said. "You've got enough brains to do anything. So what would you want to do?"

"I want to go to Upper School for Potions," you said. Every time you talked about it, it sounded far away and impossible. "I don't know where I'll go from there. I could make potions for hospitals. Or maybe I'll teach, I'm not sure."

"You'll be cracking at teaching," Fred said, a smile stretching across his face. "My marks in Potions were way better when you tutored me."

A slower song started to play from the record player, and Fred popped up onto his feet. He extended a hand toward you.

"Dance with me?" he asked, giving you a wink.

You tried to fight the smile that started to spread across your lips, but it was too late. You accepted his hand, wiggling off the bed and joining him.

He guided you to the center of his dormitory, placing one of your hands on his shoulder and holding the other. His hand found its way down to your waist.

You began swaying together to the music. It was a bit awkward and clumsy at first, but after a bit, it felt romantic.

"Do you have a date to the Winter Ball yet?" Fred asked.

"Wouldn't you like to know," you teased him, squinting your eyes and scrunching your nose.

"I would actually, because I'd like you to be my date," he said.

"I'll have to think about it," you replied, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of an easy "yes".

"What, do you need a grand gesture?" he asked, squeezing your hip. A lopsided grin was on his lips. 

"The only thing I need is time to think about it," you replied, cocking your head slightly at him.

You leaned your head onto his chest, finally closing the small gap between the two of you. You stayed like this for at least one whole song.

"Birdie?" Fred said, a question clearly on the horizon.

"Yes, Fred?" you replied, your cheek still pressed against his chest.

"We don't have to talk about it if you're not ready, but it's something to consider," he started.

"You're making me nervous," you said, pulling back so you could look up at him.

"No, it's nothing to be nervous about," he soothed. "I wanted to talk about next steps. Y'know, what you're comfortable with and what you're not."

"What do you mean?" you asked.

"Well....we seem to have a comfort level. We snog, mess around a bit. But I wanted to see how you feel about anything more," he said. "And I don't want this to feel like I'm pressuring you, I want to know so I don't overstep."

You could feel your cheeks heating up. Talking about sex in any context made you feel a bit flustered. At least Fred was being polite about it.

"Uhm...well...I'm not sure," you answered. "It feels like a big step."

"I know, birdie," Fred said, his hand moving to your back to rub soothing circles. "There's no rush. I want us to be able to talk about these things if we're going to keep seeing each other."

"Right..." you said, still feeling a bit sheepish. "I just...Adrian and I had sex, but that was only after he said that he loved me. I'm not sure that I'm made for casual hookups like some other people are."

"And that's absolutely okay," Fred replied. "I don't need to shag to know how much I like you."

You looked up at Fred. He was staring at you with those soft eyes again. His patience and willingness to communicate only made him more attractive to you. 

You put your hands on either side of his face, standing on your toes to kiss him. His hands found your waist, pulling you in as close as possible.

Your kisses were sweet, and it felt like Fred was reassuring you that he didn't just see you as a shag. His feelings were genuine and his intentions were pure. Well....pure might not be the best word, but his intentions were good.

Your hands found their way down to his shirt collar, and you tugged at it. You pulled him back towards his bed, pushing him back onto it. You straddled him like you had the very first time you were in his dormitory. 

He kept kissing you, his hands wandering up your thighs. Everywhere he touched felt like an electric shock, and you were dying for more. 

"Freddie?" you said, interrupting your make out session.

"Yes?" he replied, a tad breathless. 

"I need you to eat me out," you commanded, looking him dead in the eye.

Fred smirked. "Your wish is my command, birdie."

He flipped you on your back, propping your head up on his pillows. He resumed kissing you, biting at your lower lip while his hands gripped at your thighs.

Fred worked his way down, undoing your tie and unbuttoning your shirt in what felt like seconds. Your cheeks flushed as he took in your light pink bra. You hadn't considered that Fred would see you bra when you put it on this morning, otherwise you would have chosen something different. 

"Pink? I love it," Fred commented with a smirk. He kissed along your collarbones and down to your chest, leaving a love bite between your boobs. 

He made his way down to the top of your skirt. "I think the skirt is going to stay on this time."

His words were enough to make you want to clench your thighs together. He could feel your body tensing in desperation, so he graciously positioned himself between your legs.

Fred kissed along your thighs all the way down to your knickers. His fingers played at the waistband.

"You still want this?" he asked.

"Please Freddie," you whined.

He pulled your panties down your legs, tossing them onto the floor next to the bed. He worked your skirt up just a bit so he could see what he was doing.

Fred's tongue darted out, teasing you. You almost yelped, gripping onto the sheets to try to keep it together. You were so desperate for him that it felt embarrassing. 

His tongue worked around your clit, purposefully avoiding where you wanted him most. He loved the whimpers that were coming out of your mouth. He knew exactly how desperate you were. 

Fred squeezed your thigh with one hand and brought the other to your clit, rubbing circles with his thumb. His tongue worked its way down to your entrance, and your back arched off of the bed in response.

"You like that, darling?" he asked, pausing for a moment.

You only nodded in response, unable to get any words to come out. Fred resumed, his thumb playing with your clit and his mouth teasing your entrance. 

He pulled his mouth off of you, dragging a long pointer finger down to your entrance. 

"Is this okay?" he asked before going any further.

"Yes. Please," you answered, burning for his touch.

Fred's finger teased along your entrance before finally pushing it into you, a whine escaping your mouth. He worked it in and out slowly, kissing your thighs and leaving love bites.

"More please," you begged, feeling a knot tighten in your stomach.

Fred obliged, plunging another long finger into you. He picked up the pace, and you were rocking back and forth to meet his fingers. 

A number of profanities fell from your lips as you chased your release. Fred was admiring the sight in front of him, relishing in finally having his fingers inside of you.

"Such a good girl for me," Fred murmured. "So gorgeous like this."

You moaned in response, so close to your release. Fred's fingers had found the trigger spot inside of you, and he pounded against it again and again. 

You finally finished, your back arching off of the bed. Fred slowed his fingers, working you down from your high. He kissed the inside of your thigh.

"Fuck, you're perfect," Fred commented, admiring your form as you tried to catch your breath. 

He kissed a trail down your thigh, nipping at your hip bones. He left another love bite just above your hip bone. He loved marking you up, and secretly, you loved it too. His marks were nothing that you couldn't conceal with a glamor charm when needed.

Fred returned to your center, licking a stripe from your entrance up to your clit. You groaned at the overstimulation.

"Think you have another one in you?" Fred asked, massaging your thighs with his hands.

"You're going to be the death of me," you replied, ruffling his hair with your hand.

"That sounds like a yes to me," he smirked, placing one more kiss on your thigh before returning his attention to your clit.

He alternated between sucking on it and playing with it with his tongue, driving you absolutely mad. Your nails dug into his scalp, urging him for more.

"Fuck Freddie," you whined. 

You pulled at his hair, causing him to groan into you. Your hips started to buck up to meet his mouth, trembling at how sensitive you were after your first orgasm.

Fred was determined to make you finish again. One of his hands wandered up to your chest, sneaking under your bra. He pinched and played with your nipple, forcing moans and whimpers out of your mouth. 

"Freddie...so close," you breathed out, struggling to form words. 

Ten more seconds was all you needed to find your second release, trembling and whimpering as you finished. You panted in disbelief at the boy who was able to get you to finish twice. You had a hard enough time finishing once.

Fred kissed along your stomach, working his way back up to your mouth. He finally kissed you on the lips, and you gripped at his hair to pull him even closer.

He pulled back, grinning at you. "Good?" he asked. 

"Don't even," you slapped at his shoulder, giggling at him. 

His head came down to rest on your chest. You ran your fingers through his hair, placing a kiss on the top of his head. 

"I want to take you out on a date," he stated, nuzzling further into the crook of your neck.

"Where?" you asked, still playing with his hair.

"There's a Hogsmeade trip this weekend, how about then?" he said, picking up his head to look at you.

"I'll have to think about it," you replied.

"You are going, right?" he asked, sounding almost confused.

"Yes," you answered. Not a single Hogwarts student would want to miss out on a trip to Hogsmeade. Not even you. 

"Then why not?" he asked, pushing the issue.

You readjusted so you could sit up. Fred sat up too, putting his back against the wall behind his bed. 

"I haven't told all of my friends about you yet," you admitted. "Spending time together at Hogsmeade would make us look like...well, a couple."

"And you have a problem with that?" he pressed on, sounding a bit hurt. 

"No, well....I just like how things are now. It's private. It's just you and I without other people getting into our business," you said with a shrug. 

"So you don't want people to know that you've been seeing me," he stated, turning his head so he wouldn't have to look at you.

"No, Fred," you replied, reaching for his hand. He pulled it away. "I'm just not sure that I'm ready for something so public after Adrian. I need a bit more time."

"You're willing to sneak around and hook up in my dormitory but you can't be seen with me at Hogsmeade?" he said, now very clearly upset. 

"Fred...." you trailed off, trying to find something to say. You agreed, it did sound that way. But you just weren't quite ready for a public commitment. The whole school would be buzzing, and you liked to remain out of the spotlight when it came to gossip. 

"Please, just go," Fred said, still refusing to look at you. You sat there frozen for a minute, absorbing his words. You quickly dressed yourself, pulling your robes on and grabbing your back pack.

You headed for the door, turning over your shoulder before you left. "I'm sorry, Fred," was all you could say before turning the knob and walking out.

----

As you took your seat at breakfast, you noticed that a certain ginger was absent. His twin was at the Gryffindor table, talking animatedly about something with a group of younger students. They were almost always together, and this immediately struck you as strange.

You tried not to think about it, hurriedly eating your breakfast so you could get to Potions early. You had a question about the assignment that was given over the weekend, and you intended to ask Snape about it before class began.

"I'll see you later," you said to your group before departing. You looked around for Fred again, but he still wasn't in the Great Hall.

You stepped into the hallway, adjusting your leather backpack on your shoulders as you turned to head toward the Potions classroom. As you passed an empty classroom, someone grabbed your wrist and pulled you inside.

You let out a small shriek, obviously startled. Standing in front of you was Fred Weasley, red hair perfectly tousled and a bouquet of wildflowers in his hands. His black eye was still visible, but it was less prominent than before. 

"Sorry to startle you, birdie," he said, a grin finding its way to his lips. "I went out this morning to pick these for you."

He handed you the wildflowers, the same soft look in his eye that was present on Saturday night. You took the bouquet, unable to suppress your own smile. That's why he wasn't at breakfast.

"Thank you, Weasley," you said, inspecting the flowers. They were still wet with morning dew and a bit wilted, as the fall weather did not lend itself well to flourishing botanicals.

"I wanted to walk you to class this morning," he said, taking a step closer to you.

"Sure, but that doesn't make you my boyfriend," you replied, reminding him of your relationship. Or rather, your lack thereof. 

"I know, darling," he said, finally close enough to put his arms around your waist. "I know that you're stubborn. But you will be mine, I promise."

You set the flowers on a nearby desk, placing your own hands on his shoulders and running them upwards to lace into his hair. You stared at each other for a few moments, taking each other in.

You loved the way he looked in his uniform. His Gryffindor tie was always just a tad crooked, but you found it endearing. He looked rather preppy with his sweater on today underneath his robes. You pictured Fred in a pair of a nerdy glasses for a moment, causing a giggle to escape your lips.

"Is something funny, birdie?" he asked, pulling you closer so he could talk right into your ear.

"Just thinking about how devastatingly sexy you would look in a pair of wide-rimmed glasses," you teased, standing on your toes to place a kiss on his neck. You lingered just long enough to sink your teeth into his sensitive skin.

You pulled back for a moment, taking in his expression. His cheeks were red, his mouth parted just a tad. Fred Weasley....blushing? That was a sight you had never seen before.

This only encouraged you to continue the teasing. He had done the same to you, so why not return the favor?

"Does someone like dirty talk?" you asked, your voice velvety and seductive. You slipped your hand down to his neck, gripping his throat lightly. "Naughty boy."

You could feel Fred gulp, your hand still wrapped around his throat. You had him right where you wanted him.

"Actually, I think I can walk myself to class this morning," you said. You released your hand from its place on his neck, giving him a chaste kiss on the lips before grabbing the flowers from the desk where you had put them earlier. He was still standing there in shock as you headed for the door.

"Thanks for the flowers, Freddie," you said sweetly, tossing him one last glance over your shoulder before departing.

Fred was frozen where he stood. The two of you had a teasing relationship, but most of the teasing came from his end. You would simply resist, making it even more entertaining for him. But now you were the aggressor. And he loved it.

He was accustomed to taking the lead in his relationships. Fred had always been relatively dominant, but things with you were different. It felt like a power struggle. It was exciting and unpredictable.

Fred finally snapped back to reality, feeling momentarily embarrassed as he stood alone in the empty classroom. You had managed to slip through his fingers this time, but he was determined to get you back.

----

It was Wednesday evening. The week had gone by in a similar fashion to all of the others. You spent your evenings in the library with your friends, staying on top of the numerous assignments you had for the week. Your grades were something that really mattered to you, and you were determined to be at the top of your class.

It was your turn to make prefect rounds on Wednesday nights. It was only for an hour from 9-10pm, and you enjoyed the relatively peaceful time that you spent walking around the castle. Students were rarely misbehaving at this time, but you would have to write someone up every once in a while. 

Most of the hour had passed by without incident until you heard a bang come from down the hallway. It made you jump, but soon enough you were walking in the direction of the noise.

"Hey, who's there?" you called down the dim hallway, your feet carrying a quick pace as you went to investigate. 

You reached the set of stairs that led up to the astronomy tower. At the bottom of the stairs was a  neatly folded piece of paper. You picked it up, curious as to what it could be.

The stars are gorgeous tonight, but not as gorgeous as you.

You blushed as you read the note. You recognized the handwriting as Fred's instantly. You had tutored him for a year, so you had become familiar with his messy print. 

You began to ascend the stairs, knowing that Fred would be in the tower waiting for you. He loved surprising you, and he was unexpectedly thoughtful. You loved that about him.

You finally reached the top. Fred was stood by the edge of the tower, leaning against the stone ledge to look out at the sky. You stood there for a moment, watching him without his knowledge.

He looked peaceful. The moonlight lit his fiery hair with silver streaks. You noticed that his tie was missing, likely discarded once classes were over. The top few buttons of his shirt were undone, showing more of his collarbone than usual. 

Seeing him like this was enough to make your whole body tingle. You wished you didn't react this way, but you couldn't help it. He was gorgeous. 

You cleared your throat, signaling to him that he wasn't alone. He turned to look at you, his gaze gentle. He motioned for you to join him. 

You approached him, settling in next to him as you placed your hands on the tall ledge. You looked out at the sky, taking in the view from the tower. He was right, the stars were gorgeous. 

You both stood in silence for a few minutes, but it was comfortable. Neither of you felt the need to disrupt the moment. You were enjoying the view and being in each other's presence.

You saw Fred angle his body toward you out of the corner of your eye. 

"How's my favorite prefect this evening?" he asked, a cheeky grin crossing his face. 

You turned to him, leaning your hip against the ledge. "I don't know, seems like I need to write up a certain student for trespassing in the astronomy tower after hours."

You returned his grin, knowing how much he enjoyed your banter. He stepped closer to you, running a finger under your chin.

"Is there anything I can do to convince her not to?" he asked, using his finger to angle your chin upward so you had to look into his eyes.

"We'll see," you teased, narrowing your eyes at him. 

Fred let out a light chuckle, and his other hand wrapped around your waist and landed on the small of your back. He pulled you in, kissing you on the lips.

Your hands rested on his chest, eventually pulling at his collar as you continued kissing. It was slow and gentle, and he wasn't rushing you to go any further.

You finally pulled apart, looking at each other in the moonlight. Even with the limited light, you could make out his slightly rosy cheeks and pink lips. You brought your thumb up to trace his bottom lip, giggling at him.

"Has anyone told you how pretty you are?" you asked, admiring him openly.

Fred's cheeks darkened, making you giggle even more. 

"What, do you not like when I hit on you?" you teased, pulling your hand from his face to place it on his shoulder. 

Fred's response was to pull you in for another kiss. Sweet and slow, much like the ones you had shared moments before. 

"You're quite cheeky, aren't you?" he finally said, resting his chin on the top of your head. He still had his arms wrapped around you, and you leaned into his chest.

"I'm not as bad as I used to be," you admitted. "My mum couldn't stand my mouth when she still lived with us. She said that my thoughts came right out of my mouth instead of going to my brain."

"I think your mouth is smashing," Fred replied. He took a moment to think about what he had said, then pushed you back by your shoulders to look at you as he realized the innuendo.

"Not what I meant," he said, letting out an awkward chuckle. You giggled at his embarrassment.

"I know, Fred," you said, grinning at him. You pulled out of the semi-embrace, turning back to look out at the sky.

You felt him lingering next to you, seeming to hesitate on what to do next. He decided to turn to the stars as well.

"Are you close with your mum?" he asked, sounding shy.

"No," you huffed out almost too quickly. "She left my dad and I when I was ten. Something about  the 'wizarding life' not suiting her. I found out later that she was cheating on my dad and moved to America with her Muggle boyfriend. I haven't seen her since."

Fred took a moment to absorb the information, considering how to proceed since he knew the topic was likely sensitive. 

"Are you close with your dad then?" he followed up.

"Very," you answered. "He went to Hogwarts and was a Ravenclaw too. He works in a potions lab, he grows all of their ingredients. He was hoping that I would like Herbology, but it's not really my thing."

"Does it get boring with just the two of you?" he asked, seeming genuinely curious.

"Not really," you replied, turning your head to look at him. "I used to wish that I had siblings, but it would just make our situation harder. My dad has had to raise me mostly by himself, having another child would have had him too knackered to balance work with taking care of us."

Fred looked at you, admiring your openness. You had never talked like this before. Your conversations had always been rather surface-level, but this was deeper. It felt good to connect with him.

"I bet your house is pretty quiet," he said. "My house feels like a madhouse sometimes. My brothers are always wrestling and Ginny is usually complaining about something."

"Do you like it though? Having so many siblings?" you asked.

"I suppose it's alright. I don't know any different. And my parents are so in love that it's sickening," Fred jokingly scrunched his face in disgust.

You giggled. "It's cute that they're still keen on each other," you said, nudging his shoulder with your own.

"I guess," he shrugged. "They're always up my arse about my marks and what I'm going to do after Hogwarts. George too. They make it sound like we're daft. My mum expects all of us to be just like Percy. Perfect Percy."

"I don't think you're daft," you said, linking your arm around his and leaning your head against his shoulder. 

"Thanks," Fred replied, adjusting so his arm wrapped around you instead. "Seems like the whole school thinks I am."

"Fred, that's ridiculous. You're allowed to feel that way, but it's simply not true," you argued. It hurt to hear that he felt like he wasn't smart enough. You knew that Fred wasn't incredibly focused on his studies, but that didn't mean that he wasn't intelligent.

"People like me because of my pranks. I'm good for a laugh, but that seems to be about it," he said. He sounded so small and defeated.

You turned your head just enough so you could look him in the eye. He was averting your gaze, opting to look at the sky instead.

"Look at me, Freddie," you said, your voice firm but kind. He finally met your eyes reluctantly.

"You are incredibly clever. Coming up with your own pranks takes detailed planning, and I can't imagine that it's easy. Your friends adore you. First years are chuffed when you even look their way," you told him, meaning every word. "But you're also genuine. And you're kind, and patient, and considerate. You're so much more than I knew you were, and I'm gutted that it took this long for me to get to know you."

Fred held your gaze as you rambled on. You saw that familiar look in his eye, the softness that was mixed with something deeper. Adoration, maybe? You weren't quite sure.

He was once again left without words, simply staring at you once you were finished talking. You felt embarrassed for a moment, afraid that you revealed too much of how you felt. Your stomach felt like it was sinking to the floor as he just stood there.

Fred finally moved, grabbing both of your hands in his. He maintained eye contact.

"Birdie, you're...Merlin, I don't know how to put it into words," he said, shaking his head at himself. 

"Then don't," you said softly.

He pulled your hands so your arms wrapped around him, drawing you in to his chest. He kissed you, a delicate kiss at first. He bit at your bottom lip, causing a soft moan to escape your lips. 

That was all he needed to lift you up, earning a giggle of surprise from you. You wrapped your legs around him, and he supported you by holding your bottom. He kept kissing you, pressing your back against the closest wall.

The cold stone caused goosebumps to erupt across your back, but in this moment, you didn't mind. Fred's kisses became more fervent, your teeth almost clashing as you both fought for the upper hand. 

He had you pinned against the wall for at least five minutes. You pushed at his shoulders, causing him to pull out of the kiss. He looked at you, his eyebrows bent in confusion.

"Put me down, please," you requested, a nonchalance in your voice. Fred complied, carefully adjusting you so your feet finally touched the ground.

You grabbed the collar of his shirt, spinning around so you forced him up against the wall. Still gripping his collar, you pulled him down into another kiss. Your hands found his belt, and you paused.

"Is this alright?" you asked.

"Please," he answered, sounding breathless. A smug grin crept across your face. You were proud of the effect you were having on him. 

You resumed your kissing, working on his belt. Your kisses migrated down to his jaw, nipping at his jawline. You had always loved his jawline. You had heard other girls joke that it was sharp enough to cut something.

You finally got his belt free, tossing it to the side with a clank. Your hands ran up his chest, nails scratching along the material of his shirt. Fred let out a throaty sound, something between a groan and a whine. 

You kissed down to his neck, nipping at his ear.

"Fuck, birdie," he whispered in response. 

You started fiddling with the button of his trousers, struggling for a moment before getting it open. You pulled away from him, once again checking for his approval.

"Tell me when to stop," you said, echoing the very words he had said to you a few nights ago.

"Please don't," he replied, hands gripping at your hips desperately. 

"I've never heard so many 'please's come from you," you teased, biting at his neck again.

"Anything for you, darling," he said, his voice sultry. That was enough to send a tingle down your spine. 

You tugged at his trousers, pulling them down. You kept kissing his neck, finding a spot along his collarbone to leave a love bite. It was revenge for the marks he had left on you. 

Your hands danced down to his hips, unbuttoning his shirt from bottom to top. You looked at him for a moment, admiring your work. Fred was breathing hard, his pupils blown wide with arousal. He looked....hungry.

You dropped to your knees, earning a quiet "fuck" from Fred. You felt momentarily nervous, insecure about your "talents". You and Adrian had hooked up many times, and you were no stranger to blowjobs. But Adrian was your first and your only. This was someone new.

You snapped yourself out of it, dragging your nails along the waistband of Fred's boxers. There was already a prominent bulge from your efforts, and you silently commended yourself. 

You placed a kiss along his abs over the fabric of his undershirt. You worked your way down, kissing until you were at his waistband once again. You peered up at him, taking in his flushed cheeks and desperate expression. And what did you do? You grinned up at him and winked.

Fred groaned, covering his face with his hand. You laughed at him, running your nails along his thighs. You knew that this teasing was making him miserable. You had your fun, now it was time to put him out of his misery.

You grabbed for his waistband, pulling down his boxers in one smooth motion. You gulped as you took in the sight before you. You had assumed that Fred would be big; he was a tall person, after all. You had also heard rumblings from girls who had hooked up with Fred. But this...definitely more than you were expecting. 

You took a breath, gripping him with one hand and supporting yourself against his thigh with the other. You began to pump him, slowly working him up to a faster pace. 

After a minute, you had Fred groaning and gripping at your hair. You dared to tease him once more, darting your tongue out to tease his tip. 

"Fuck," he muttered, nails digging into your scalp.

Your tongue danced in circles around his tip, eventually making stripes down to his base. You still hadn't put him into your mouth, and you knew this was killing him.

"Are you going to say please?" you asked, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

"Birdie, you've got to be....oh fuck," he said breathily. You had continued teasing him with your tongue, interrupting his response.

"Please," he begged, sounding pathetic. That was what you had been waiting for. 

You finally took him into your mouth. You started with the tip at first, using one hand to work the rest of him while the other played with his balls. You worked your way down slowly, taking in more of him inch by inch.

Fred's groans were turning into whimpers, and if your mouth wasn't previously engaged, you would definitely be smirking. His nails continued to dig at your scalp, mussing your tidy hair. 

You worked your way down to his base at last, fighting against your instinct to gag. You picked up your pace, causing various profanities to fall from Fred's mouth.

"Fuck, I'm going to...you should stop," he breathed out, pulling hard at your hair. 

You peered up at him, determination in your eyes. There was no backing down now. He met your gaze, understanding what your intentions were. 

Fred finally released, a groan coming out of his mouth that he tried to suppress by biting his lip. You worked him down slowly, pulling him out of your mouth. You looked right into his eyes as you swallowed. 

His jaw dropped just slightly, his mouth just barely agape as he took in the sight before him. You were doing your own admiring, enjoying your view from your place on your knees. His chest was heaving, cheeks red. You could tell he had a lean build underneath his undershirt, and you were looking forward to taking that shirt off of him. Another time.

You helped him find his boxers and trousers, dressing himself as you got up from your knees. You brushed them off, feeling the indents from the stone floor in your knees. Worth it.

Fred had just finished slipping his belt through the loops of his trousers when you grabbed at his wrists. You puckered your lips at him playfully. He chuckled, leaning down to kiss your lips.

"Do you still think that my mouth is smashing?" you teased, grabbing at his sides to pull yourself into him. 

"Absolutely smashing, birdie," he replied, chuckling again before giving you another kiss. 

----

The boys heard the clacking of your Oxford shoes on the stone path, turning to you as you approached. Both wore their usual grins, full of mischief and pleasure in whatever they had just done. You looked to the ground, finding a pale blond ferret on the stones by their feet.

"Now, what are you two up to?" you asked, crossing your arms in an attempt to appear intimidating.

This only caused Fred's grin to widen. "We just thought that Hogwarts could use a new pet."

"And who exactly is this pet?" you asked, bending down to pick up the ferret. It looked up at you, and you noticed that it had remarkably blue eyes.

"I think we should call him Mal-ferret. He makes a bloody cute critter, doesn't he?" George replied, tickling at the ferret in your hands.

You gasped, realizing who was in your hands. Draco Malfoy.

"You turned Malfoy into a ferret?! Are you bloody insane?" you asked, your voice raising in frustration and disbelief.

The boys only chuckled at your reaction, clearly enjoying their prank.

"Turn him back right this instant!" you demanded, placing Malfoy back onto the ground. "Don't make me get Snape, you gits!"

Fred grumbled, the smirk still playing at his lips. He loved when you got angry. And when you bossed him around.

George pulled out his wand and mumbled a spell, turning the ferret back into a human. Slowly Malfoy's features returned as he grew back to his normal size. 

"I'm telling my father about this!" he fumed, staring up at Fred. The ginger towered over him, making Draco's threats rather ineffective.

Malfoy stormed off into the castle as the students in the courtyard laughed. The twins laughed along with them, still very pleased with themselves.

"When will you two learn..." you shook your head at them, taking out your notebook. "That's 20 points from Gryffindor."

Fred exhaled, reaching for your elbow as you recorded the point deduction in your notebook.

"Come on, little bird. You don't have to be that harsh," he said, his voice sounding like honey as he tried to convince you to change your mind.

You looked up at him, being sure to make direct eye contact. "Flirting with me won't change your fate, Weasley."

George chuckled behind him, and Fred's eyebrows shot up in surprise. He straightened his shoulders, preparing to respond.

Fred leaned in, his nose almost brushing your ear. "If I were trying to flirt with you, darling, it would be a bit more obvious," he said, his voice low.

His breath tickled your neck, causing goosebumps to form. Your words caught in your throat and you almost choked. Heat rose in your cheeks, and you balled your fists in an attempt to regain control.

"You don't have an effect on me, pretty boy," you replied, spitting out the last two words. Your eyes locked, and you glared at him. Your heart began to pound as you held eye contact. His perfect hazel eyes bore into yours, the corners of his mouth turned up into a grin. The look in his eyes was almost...lustful.

Your jaw locked as your stubbornness kicked in. He was not going to win this. 

Fred took a step back, his hand reaching for the end of your braid and twirling it. "I'll see you at the Quidditch match tomorrow, birdie."

His sickening smile remained on his lips as he turned to George, walking back toward the castle doors. You let out a breath and hustled over to your own group of friends.

It was too late for you. Fred had noticed the color in your cheeks. The way you were fighting for control. It was in that moment that he knew he had to have you.

Fred had always liked you. You had several classes together over the years, and you were kind to him and his brother. You tutored him in Potions during third year, and you weren't as stuck-up as your fellow Ravenclaws.

There was something so tempting about you. Your "good girl" persona mixed with your unshakable attitude. It was like a drug to Fred, and now that he knew that he could make you weak in the knees, he was going to exploit it.

By the time you made it across the courtyard to your friends, your entire face was bright red. "Let's go inside," you insisted, hurrying out the words as you pushed towards the doors.

You had barely made it inside before your friends were asking questions.

"What happened?" Cho asked, sounding genuinely confused. "The way Fred was looking at you was...intense."

You ran your hands through your hair, trying to calm yourself. You had always thought that Fred was cute, but his reputation as a player had kept you away. You'd talked to him before in passing, but never like this. It was an adrenaline rush to stand your ground against him. Holding power over him felt...addicting.

"The twins just...they were just being gits. And Fred is always...you know Fred. He's defiant," you replied, your sentences smashing together as you attempted to compose yourself.

"Hey, are you okay?" Cho asked, running a hand down your arm.

"Yeah, just...didn't expect Fred to talk back to me. It's not usually that difficult to take House points away," you said, attempting to explain away why you were so flustered.

"But the way that he was looking at you..." Beatrice chimed in. "He looked....I don't know. I've never seen him like that."

"He's just being Fred," you said, trying to dismiss it. "Let's go to the library, I have mountains of homework."

Your group headed towards the library, finding your usual table and settling in. You tried to work on an essay for Muggle Studies, but you couldn't focus. Your thoughts kept wandering back to Fred and his hazel eyes burning into yours. The way his breath felt on your neck. His fingers twirling your hair.

You tried to snap yourself out of it. You knew that Fred was a flirt. He had quite the reputation with the girls at Hogwarts, and he did not have a hard time finding a date. He was probably just messing with you. It was nothing, and you scolded yourself for replaying the scene in your head over and over again.

----

Fred and George were lounging in the Common Room, finding anything to do instead of their homework. Fred was sketching in his sketchbook while George conjured and disintegrated flowers over and over again.

"What was your deal earlier today with that prefect?" George blurted out, breaking the silence in the room.

Fred turned to him. "What do you mean?" he asked, acting confused.

"You know exactly what I mean, you git. You were toying with her," George said, disintegrating another clump of flowers with his wand. 

"I wasn't toying with her," Fred said, seeming defensive. "I just...wanted to see if she would actually take the points away."

"Sureeeeeeeeeeee...." George replied, obviously doubtful. "You were flirting with her. In front of the whole courtyard, mind you."

"That was not flirting," Fred scoffed, focused on his sketchbook.

"What are you drawing?" George asked, getting up from his place on the couch to look at Fred's sketchbook.

"Nothing," Fred said, holding the sketchbook tight to his chest. "It's none of your business."

"Oh come on, Fred. Get off it. Show me the bloody sketch," George said, holding out his hand for the sketchbook.

Fred huffed, reluctantly handing it over. George took hold of the sketchbook, turning it so he could see the sketch. On the paper was a replica of your face. Fred had perfectly mimicked the stubborn fire behind your eyes.

"Oh, so you obviously don't fancy her," George mocked, still staring at the sketch.

"I never said that I didn't fancy her," Fred said. "I only said that I wasn't flirting with her."

"Where is this even coming from in the first place?" George asked. "We've known her for years and you just now fancy her?"

Fred shrugged. "I've always thought she was nice. Not as insufferable as some of those other Ravenclaws. But...I don't know. Something is different now. She isn't falling over herself for my attention."

"Oh, so you like her because she's a challenge?" George replied, his voice mocking. "That's endearing."

"Shut it, you prat. I can't explain it. She's just different. She's confident, and she's smart, and she doesn't back down. Most of the girls at Hogwarts aren't like that," Fred explained.

"The only girl here who knows how to talk back is Ang, but she's mine," George chuckled. "Interesting that we both like a strong-willed girl. Must be a twin thing."

Fred socked his twin in the arm, taking his sketchbook back. "You're being an arse."

"Never thought you'd fancy a Ravenclaw. They seem a bit too bookish for you. And how do you even know she fancies you too?" George rambled.

"I'm not sure if she does, but I can change that," Fred said, a smirk crossing his features. "I'm going to get her to come to the match this weekend. She'll be mine before the weekend is over, you'll see."

----

Students were buzzing at breakfast on Saturday morning. It was the day of the big Gryffindor vs. Slytherin quidditch match, and everyone was nervous with anticipation for the face-off. You were somewhat indifferent to quidditch, but you usually went with your friends for something to do on a Saturday afternoon. It gave you a break from doing homework in the library.

You had just taken another bite of toast when someone tapped on your shoulder. You put the toast on your plate, turning around in confusion. Standing behind you was none other than Fred Weasley. A grin was on his lips and his hands were behind his back.

"Yes, Weasley?" you said, slight irritation lacing your voice. You had finally gotten him to stay out of your thoughts, and now here he was again.

"I wanted to make sure that you're coming to the match today," he said, a certain sweetness in his voice. "And I wanted to give you this."

Fred pulled a scarf out from behind his back. It was his Gryffindor scarf, adorned with his house colors, crest, and initials. You stared at it in disbelief as it hung from his hands in front of you.

"Uhm...okay," you replied, sheepishly taking the scarf from him. A blush was starting to form on your cheeks. This was quite the unexpected move from Fred.

"If you're going to cheer for me, you need to be wearing my colors," he said, giving you a wink. This did nothing to calm the redness of your cheeks. You racked your brain for a snide remark to shoot back at him.

"I don't know what you're playing at, Weasley, but if this is you trying to mark your territory, I don't want it," you said, finally regaining your resolve.

His eyes softened, making your stomach flutter. Damn it.

"I'm not marking my territory, birdie. I just wanted a pretty girl to have my scarf. You're my lucky charm today," he replied, cocking his head to the side in a way that gave him a boyish vibe.

You huffed in response, reluctant to accept his answer. Before you could make another snappy reply, Fred leaned in to whisper in your ear.

"I don't mark my territory with a scarf, darling," he whispered, his voice low enough to give you chills. "I can show you later if you'd like."

You swallowed hard, clenching your jaw. You were not going to let Fred Weasley know that he could make you flustered. He can make any girl at Hogwarts swoon, but you were determined to not be one of them.

Fred backed away, a devious smirk on his lips. "I'll see you in the stands, birdie."

Fred left the Great Hall as if nothing had happened. You sat there trying to catch your breath, irritated at him for getting you so wound up. He was infuriating. But for some reason, you liked it.

----

You settled into the stands with Cho and Beatrice. Fred's scarf was in your backpack, and you were still debating on whether or not to wear it. 

"Come on, just put it on! It's cute that he gave you his scarf," Beatrice said, nudging your shoulder with hers. "Fred is adorable. All of the other girls are going to be jealous."

"Bea, Fred is a troublemaker," Cho replied. "He doesn't have the best reputation, and I wouldn't want to get mixed up in that if it were me. Wearing that scarf is just going to bring unwanted attention."

You had been stewing over this ever since breakfast. Now you knew that Fred's flirting wasn't just your overactive imagination or wishful thinking. It was real. You had to decide what to do, and you weren't quite sure of his intentions. 

"Wait, I have an idea," you blurted out, getting up from the stands before Beatrice or Cho could reply.

Your feet carried you to a place that you had been many, many times before. The Slytherin quidditch team's locker room. 

You had dated Adrian Pucey for most of last year, and you used the locker room as a place to hook up after hours. The breakup was relatively amicable. Adrian wanted to get more serious, and you were too focused on passing your O.W.L.s. You parted ways on good terms, but you knew he would be willing to get back together if you asked. 

You knocked on the locker room door, and Draco was the one to answer.

"Yes?" he asked, half-dressed in his uniform.

"Can you get Adrian for me?" you asked, crossing your arms as you leaned against the door frame.

Draco shut the door. It opened a few moments later, but this time it was Adrian.

"Hey," he said, taking in your figure in the doorway. He always looked at you like that. A mix of lust and admiration. "Everything alright?"

"Yeah," you replied, inching closer to him. "Can I ask a favor?"

"Of course, love," he said, his eyes soft as he looked at you.

Part of you felt guilty for this. Toying with Adrian was totally unnecessary, but you wanted to get under Fred's skin in the same way that he got under yours.

"Can I wear your scarf today?" you asked sweetly. "For old time's sake? And for good luck. I'm rooting for you."

"Anything for you," he replied. "I'll be back with it in a moment."

You huffed a sigh of relief as he turned back into the locker room to fetch the scarf. You had worn it to all of his matches last year, cheering for him from the stands even though you didn't understand all of the rules of quidditch.

Adrian returned to the door with his scarf, handing it to you.

"Thank you," you said. "I'll give it back after the match. You're going to be great."

You leaned in to kiss him on the cheek. He smiled at you in the same way that he always had. It made your heart hurt in a way, but you were motivated by vengeance. 

You made your way back up into the stands to sit with Beatrice and Cho. You sat down, weaving Adrian's scarf around your neck.

Beatrice gasped. "You're a masher! Adrian's scarf!?"

You smirked, pleased with yourself. "Adrian and I are still friends. He deserves to win today."

Cho groaned. "You're digging your own grave. Fred is going to be insufferable when he sees you. And leading Adrian on? That's just dodgy."

"I'm not leading him on," you said, feeling defensive. "I just asked to wear his scarf for good luck. I didn't promise that we were getting back together."

"Whatever," Cho replied. "You're making your own mess."

The conversation came to an end as both teams entered the pitch. The crowd cheered as the players lined up on opposite sides of the pitch, awaiting their introductions. 

As the announcers began, Adrian's eyes found yours. You shot him a thumbs up, and he nodded at you with a small smile on his face. It was just like old times, and a pang of sadness shot through you.

From the moment that he stepped onto the pitch, Fred immediately clocked the scarf that you were wearing. The silver and green. Slytherin crest. The "AP" stitched onto the bottom of it near the fringe. He felt like his blood was boiling. 

He watched the interaction between you and Adrian, noticing the way that Adrian looked at you. You still had Adrian wrapped around your finger, and that pissed Fred off. He loved competition, but he loved winning even more. 

You finally dared to look at Fred and instantly regretted it. His jaw was locked in anger, and his eyes were burning into yours. Your stomach dropped for a moment, taking away the feeling of victory you had. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea.

Before you could process the wave of emotions hitting you, the match had begun. You watched in anticipation, as Fred was now more determined than ever to bring home a win for Gryffindor. 

You chattered with Cho and Beatrice to try to calm your thoughts. What was Fred going to say to you after the match? You were wringing your hands in nervousness, dreading the interaction that you knew was going to come later. 

The crowd erupted into cheers as the announcer declared that Gryffindor had caught the Golden Snitch. You were on your feet in seconds, watching the Gryffindor team fly to the ground and pile onto each other in celebration. 

You felt like the wind was knocked out of you. You were sure that Slytherin was going to win. Everyone was predicting that. This victory was unexpected, and you knew that it would give Fred another reason to gloat.

The teams lined up to congratulate each other, a practice that was required by the school because of past instances of bad sportsmanship between the teams. They high-fived each other, muttering "good game" before moving on to the next player.

Fred had finally reached Adrian. "Good game, Weasley," Adrian conceded through tight lips.

"Thanks Pucey," Fred replied, slapping Adrian's hand in a somewhat friendly high-five. "Is that your girl up there?"

Fred nodded to where you were standing with Beatrice and Cho in the crowd. Adrian's scarf was still wound around your neck, and you were playing with the fringe on the ends.

"Um....not anymore," Adrian admitted.

You were watching Fred and Adrian from your place in the stands. Seeing them converse made you feel uneasy. Especially when Fred began smirking. The look on his face was nothing short of diabolical.

"That's too bad," Fred said. "She looks cracking in that scarf. But I think she'd look even better with my hands around her neck."

You couldn't make out what they were saying, but the next thing you knew, Adrian's fist was connecting with Fred's face. It took only seconds for the other players to begin hollering and beating on each other.

The professors hurried into action, herding the spectating students toward the castle and attempting to break apart the fighting players. Your heart was pounding in your chest. Why would Adrian hit Fred?

The more you thought about it, the more you were able to paint a picture of what likely had happened. Fred has a smart mouth, and Adrian has a quick temper. It's a lethal combination.

----

You were stood in front of your mirror, fiddling with the skirt that Beatrice had lent you. She insisted on going to the Gryffindor victory party tonight. She had her eye on Oliver Wood, and she refused to go alone.

Parties weren't usually your scene. You had gone to a couple of Slytherin parties last year, but you hadn't stayed for long. You were usually only there long enough to take a few shots of firewhiskey, talk to friends, and would leave with Adrian to hook up.

Because of this, your wardrobe was not fit for a Gryffindor victory party. Some girls showed up in not much more than a bra and short skirt, while others opted for tying up their uniform tops and jeans. Beatrice was kind enough to let you borrow an outfit, but it made you self-conscious nonetheless.

It was only a plain black skirt and cropped cami. Nothing fancy, but you felt unlike yourself. Your day to day outfit was your uniform, and even then you paired it with preppy Oxfords and frilly socks. Nothing that screamed "sexy". You grabbed for your oversized flannel that you usually wore on the weekends, deciding that an extra layer would help your comfort level.

"Babe, you need to relax," Beatrice said, peering into the mirror on her desk to put the final touches on her lipgloss. "It's just a Gryffindor party. And you can leave once I have Oliver in my clutches."

"I know," you said, sounding defeated. "I just...Fred is going to be there."

You caught Beatrice's eyebrows raise from the reflection of the mirror. "Oh, so you're getting all worked up over Fred?"

You huffed. "No! I mean...he's just...he's going to be mad about the scarf."

"He's probably too knackered from the match today to care," Beatrice replied. "And from the beating he got from Adrian."

A lightbulb clicked on inside your head. You had forgotten to return Adrian's scarf. It was in your book bag. You reached for it, pulling out the scarf.

"That reminds me that I have to return this to Adrian," you said, turning towards the door. "I'll meet you back here in 15 minutes, I promise."

Before Beatrice could answer, you had already whirled out the door and down the stairs. You were headed for the Dungeons.

You still knew the passcode to the Slytherin dormitories, so getting inside was no problem at all. You made your way into their common room, finding Adrian on the couch with several of his quidditch teammates.

Your cheeks began to burn when he looked at you. It felt like he was devouring you with his eyes. He gulped, sitting up from the couch to greet you.

"Hey, love," he said, walking toward you. "I wasn't expecting you."

"Yes, sorry," you said, feeling suddenly sheepish. "I came to return your scarf as promised."

You held it up to hand it to him, and he grabbed the other end, using it to pull you closer.

"You look....I don't even have words," he muttered, sending a lightning bolt down your spine. His hand found its way to your hip, and you felt squirmy under his touch. "Where are you headed?"

"Uhm...I'm going to the Gryffindor party with Bea," you admitted, pulling away from him. "She wanted support in her mission to get with Oliver Wood."

Adrian chuckled and let out a huff. "She's always up to something. Are you planning on spending any time with Weasley?"

"Adrian..." you started.

"No, you need to hear this. What he said about you," Adrian said, anger rising in his voice. "That prat sees you as nothing more than a good shag."

You bit your lip, suddenly feeling nervous. "I can make my own decisions, Adrian," you said softly, feeling small.

"I know, love, but I don't want you to get hurt. He's a prick. He gets bad marks. And the way he talks about girls? Disgusting," Adrian spat out, shaking his head.

"I'm not going to the party for Fred, I'm going for Bea," you said, hoping to soothe his frustration.

"He's just...I don't like the idea of him being anywhere near you. What he said about you today....he deserved that black eye," he grumbled.

"What did he say?" you finally asked, your curiosity getting the best of you.

"He said something about my scarf. How you would look prettier with his hands around your throat," Adrian said, sounding disgusted as the words came out of his mouth.

Your face felt like it was on fire. What was Fred thinking? Anyone who knew Adrian was well aware of his temper. A remark like that about you was a surefire way to get beat up.

"I...you know Fred. He was probably joking," you said, trying to brush it off.

"No. The look on his face...he was dead serious. Nobody gets to talk that way about you," Adrian replied, his fists balling at his sides.

"Adrian," you said, reaching out to touch his arm. "I promise you that I can take care of myself. I can handle Fred. He's just being a git, that's nothing new for him."

"I know, love," he sighed, melting into your touch. "I just worry about you. You know that I care."

You nodded, retracting your hand from its place on his arm. "And I appreciate that. But I can stand my ground. Beatrice will be with me the whole time, and once she's off with Oliver, I'm going to go back to my room. I will be okay."

This seemed to calm him down, as he finally unclenched his fists and took a deep breath. "Be safe," he said, giving you a quick kiss on the forehead.

You turned back toward the entrance to the common room, making your way back up to Bea's room. It had definitely been at least 15 minutes by now, and she was likely getting antsy waiting for your return.

----

You and Bea stood on the fringes of the Gryffindor common room. It was packed with students with cups in their hands. The music was loud enough that you thought the lights would start shaking. 

"Let's get some shots," Bea said, grabbing your hand and leading you towards the makeshift bar set up near the fireplace. 

She picked up two shots, handing one to you. "Down the hatch," Bea said, taking her own shot.

You followed suit, grimacing at the burning sensation that followed. You had never enjoyed firewhiskey.

Bea occupied herself by looking for Oliver. You saw a tall ginger mingling with a group of other Gryffindors, and you couldn't quite tell if it was Fred or George from your view of the back of his head. 

"Looking for me, darling?" a voice said from behind you. He was close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off of his chest.

You turned to face him. His freckled face was marred with a black eye, the bruise extending from underneath his eye to the top of his cheekbone. Adrian must have hit him pretty hard.

You winced as you took in the injury, imagining that it had to hurt. "What, am I really that ugly?" Fred asked in a teasing tone. 

You stared up at him with a tight-lipped expression, crossing your arms. "It sounds like you deserved that black eye," you remarked.

Fred shrugged. "My words had their intended effect. Is Pucey still fuming?"

"You are such a git," you said, irritated at his lack of maturity. "I know what you said."

"Birdie, it's nothing that I wouldn't say to your face," he said, a smirk pulling at his lips. 

"Stop calling me that," you replied, feeling angrier by the second. "I don't know what you're getting at, but I'm not an object. Now piss off."

Fred was taken aback by your words. His little game had gone too far.

"Darling, I didn't mean--" he started, reaching for your arm.

"I mean it Weasley," you said, your voice raising in volume. You shoved his chest, forcing him away from you. "Piss off."

Before he could get in another word, you had stormed off to find Bea. She had to be here somewhere.

In your mission to find Bea, you stumbled into Angelina. "Sorry, Angelina," you said, nearly knocking her drink out of her hand. "Have you seen Bea?"

She shook her head. "Last I saw her, she was with Wood. I haven't seen them in a bit, though."

You mumbled a thank you and continued your hunt. If she was off somewhere snogging Oliver Wood, you would be pretty impressed. That would be record time for Bea. 

You went up the stairs toward the dormitories, determined to find your friend. You began knocking on doors, hoping that Bea was behind one of them. You didn't want to leave until you knew she was safe.

One of the doors was cracked open, and you knocked. Nobody answered, so you peeked your head in. 

Someone was sitting in the dark, their head in their hands. As your eyes adjusted to the darkness, you realized who it was. 

"Fred?" you called into the dark room, your voice soft.

The figure picked up its head. "Yes?" he replied, his voice quiet and full of despair.

You entered the room, closing the door behind you. You pulled out your wand, muttering "lumos" before going any further.

Fred was sitting on the edge of his bed, his elbows resting on his knees. As you got closer, you noticed his face. It was puffy and red as if he had been crying.

"What's wrong?" you asked, sitting criss cross on the floor in front of him.

He shook his head, clenching and unclenching his jaw. You sat there in silence for a few moments before he swallowed, finally answering. 

"I'm sorry," he said, quiet enough that it sounded like a whisper. "I didn't mean...you're not...I'm just so sorry."

You looked up at Fred. There was a softness in his eyes that you had seen a few times before. It was genuine. He looked absolutely gutted. 

"Why are you sorry?" you asked, carefully prodding at him for answers.

"I didn't mean to make you feel like....like some sort of object," he said, sounding embarrassed. "You're not. I don't see you like that. I've been messing with you, but I took it too far. And I'm sorry."

Your heart pounded in your chest. You had never seen Fred this vulnerable. And you had never heard him apologize before. 

"You're just...I thought we were both toying with each other. I liked it. The way you talk back to me, your stubbornness. I love that about you. But making you feel like I only see you as someone to shag...that's not what I intended. That's not how I feel," he continued. 

"Fred," you said, sitting up on your knees. You reached for his hand, holding it for a second before he pulled away. 

"I really do like you. I am so sorry that I made you upset," Fred said, locking eyes with you again. "You don't have to forgive me, but I need you to know how sorry I am. You deserve better."

You stood up from your place on the floor. You parted his knees, standing directly in front of him. He looked up at you from his place sitting on the bed, nothing but softness in his gaze. He truly was sorry, and you knew it. 

Your hand found its way to his cheek, your thumb stroking his cheekbone that was bruised purple. You swallowed hard.

You leaned down, your lips meeting his in a whisper of a kiss. It was gentle, it barely even felt like your lips met at all. But you forgave him. This was your way of showing it. 

You pulled apart, but your gaze still held. "I forgive you, Fred," you whispered, your hand still on his cheek.

A small smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. Not a mischievous grin like usual, but a genuine, kind smile. One filled with adoration. 

Fred was like putty in your hands. His tough exterior gave way to a person who was sensitive and kind. You had seen glimpses of that before, but never like this.

You finally knew how he felt about you. His feelings were genuine. And you were willing to trust him if he continued to be this vulnerable in front of you.

"I do quite enjoy teasing you," you said, smirking down at him.

"I knew it," he replied with a small chuckle, his hand lightly touching against your hip.

You were still stood between his legs, quite a precarious position. You knew exactly where you were going to go from here.

You shoved him back onto the bed, and he let out a "hmph" of surprise. Before he even got a word in, you were on top of him, straddling his torso.

Fred's eyes were wide with surprise and his brows dipped in confusion. "I thought you were sorry," you said, your voice dropping lower than usual, sounding almost sultry.

"I am," he said, still confused.

"Then prove it," you challenged him, placing a hand firmly on his chest.

Fred grinned up at you. Now you were on the same page. "Are you sure about that, darling?" he asked.

"Did I stutter?" you replied, a slight sharpness to your voice as you looked down at him.

His grin widened. "Don't say I didn't warn you," he teased.

In a matter of seconds, Fred had flipped you onto your back and pinned your hands over your head. He looked down at you, obviously very pleased with himself.

"Tell me if you want me to stop," he said, locking eyes with you.

You gulped. "I don't want you to."

Fred leaned down to kiss you, your hands still pinned firmly above your head. He shifted so he was holding your wrists with only one hand, using the other to trail up your side.

The kisses started off slow at first, but they quickly gained in pace as Fred felt you squirming underneath him. "Impatient, are we?" he said between kisses.

You only groaned in reply, fighting against him to gain control of your hands again. His free hand gripped your waist, pulling you closer into him. You wrapped your legs around his torso, begging him to be as close as possible.

His kisses migrated down to your jaw, then to your neck. He sucked a few love bites into the base of your neck, and you were dreading explaining those to your roommates in the morning. 

Fred was relishing in the tiny moans that were escaping from your mouth. He knew that you were desperate, so he was determined to take his time. 

"Freddie, please," you said, your voice almost sounding like a whine.

"Oh, so I'm Freddie now?" he teased, kissing along your collarbones. He alternated between kissing and nipping at your sensitive skin, and it was driving you insane.

"If this is your way of apologizing, I don't forgive you," you teased back, squeezing your thighs around his midsection. Fred chuckled.

"What would you like then, birdie?" he asked, suddenly sounding sweet and innocent. His eyes found yours, and your voice got caught in your throat. You wished he didn't have that effect on you.

"Let me think..." you replied, trailing off in pretend thought. "Most people I know apologize on their knees."

Fred's eyes changed, the playful glint being replaced by a competitive fire. His trademark smirk crept across his face, and you knew you were in for it.

"Alright then," he said, finally releasing you. He backed off of the bed, standing on the floor in front of you.

Fred grabbed you by the backs of your knees, pulling you to the edge of the bed in one fluid motion. You giggled in reply, surprised by his sudden movements.

"I meant to tell you, this outfit is cracking," he said, tracing his hands down your thighs. A bolt of lightning ran down your spine, and you arched off of the bed. "I think you could lose the skirt, though."

Fred looked to you for permission, waiting for you to nod before he drew your legs together and tugged at your skirt. He pulled it all the way off, folding it before putting it on the floor.

"You're folding my clothes at a time like this?" you joked, trying not to feel embarrassed as you lay on his bed in only your top and knickers.

"You don't strike me as someone who likes creases in their clothes," he replied, pulling your legs open and kneeling on the floor. "You're a prefect, for Merlin's sake."

"Don't remind me of that while I'm half naked in your dormitory," you scolded him, playfully knocking at him with your knees.

"You're a good girl, I like that," Fred commented, brushing his hands on the outside of your thighs. He placed a kiss next to your knee, slowly kissing down your inner thighs. 

You tried to even your breathing, frustrated at how worked up you were over just some kisses. You were no stranger to sex, but this was something different altogether. Fred made you feel like your skin was on fire. 

Fred had finally reached your knickers, kissing along the waistband. A whimper escaped from your lips, and he looked up at you.

What a vision. Fred Weasley, cheeks flushed, lips pink, staring up at you with lust-filled eyes from between your legs. Your heart was beating so fast that you knew he could feel it too.

"Are you going to be a good girl for me?" Fred asked, his fingers playing along your waistband. 

"Freddie....please," was all you could manage to say. Your voice was barely above a whisper.

He pulled at your knickers, bringing your legs together so he could take them off. Instead of folding them like your skirt, he simply tossed them to the side.

"Will you tell me if you want to stop?" Fred asked, becoming serious for a moment. 

"Yes," you replied, reaching down to cup his face. You could still make out his freckles from the glint of your wand light. He was simply perfect.

Fred kissed your wrist, then kissed along your thighs once more. Your breathing became more rapid in anticipation of where his mouth would go next.

You could feel his breath on you. His lips finally made contact with your center, your hands gripping at his ginger locks.

He licked at your clit, his hands squeezing your thighs. You moaned, your fingernails digging into his scalp.

It took him only moments to find his groove, causing moans and swears to fall from your lips as he worked you closer to your release.

"Freddie," you breathed out, tugging at his hair. He groaned into you, making your back arch even further off of the bed.

You bit your lip, trying to fight off your orgasm. Finishing this quickly felt like letting him win, and you couldn't have that. 

Fred could feel the tension building within your body. His hand reached up to find your cami, snaking underneath it. He expertly located your nipple, playing with it with his fingers. His mouth never left you for a second.

Your body finally gave in, tired from resisting the pleasure. Your hips bucked lightly off of the bed, a mix of "fuck"s and "Freddie"s leaving your mouth.

Fred worked you down from your orgasm slowly, finally leaving your clit to put a few love bites on your thighs. Your chest was heaving, and you were trying to find the words to say to him.

"So fucking gorgeous, birdie," he said, his eyes burning into yours. 

You moved backwards on the bed, motioning for him to join you. He got up from the floor, laying on the bed next to you.

"Do you forgive me now?" he teased, turning on his side to look at you.

"Hmmm...I'll need to consider it," you replied, grinning at him. 

Fred had been in control, but now it was your turn. You pushed at his shoulders, turning him so he was laying on his back. You straddled him once again, but he looked less surprised this time.

"You really love being in charge of me, huh?" he joked, his hands stroking at your sides. 

"It's only fair, Freddie. I am a prefect, as you so graciously reminded me," you said, propping your hands on his chest. 

"Okay, madam prefect. Are you going to give me detention?" he said, rolling his eyes at you as he grinned.

"You wish. An hour with me in a classroom? Sounds like a scene from your dreams," you teased. 

You leaned down to kiss him, hands still on his chest. His arms wrapped around your back, pulling you in closer.

A loud knock on the door interrupted your kissing. You and Fred scrambled apart, and you had pulled on your skirt in a matter of seconds.

Fred went to the door, cracking it open. "Is she with you?" a voice asked, sounding a lot like Beatrice.

You came up beside Fred so Beatrice could see you in the room. She looked you up and down, taking in your messy hair and crooked clothing.

"I...um, I was just coming to tell you that I'm going back to the dormitories," Bea said, obviously shocked at the sight in front of her. 

"Okay, I'll come with you," you said. "I'll meet you in the common room in a few minutes."

Bea nodded, turning and heading back toward the common room. Fred shut the door, and you looked for a mirror. You found one, attempting to tame your hair and straighten out your clothes.

"Perfect prefect doesn't like to get caught hooking up with troublemakers, does she?" Fred asked, half teasing and half serious.

"Fred," you said, turning to face him. 

"No, I get it. Not good for your image, or whatever," he said, busying himself with straightening the covers on his bed. 

"Freddie, look at me," you commanded, your voice edging between soft and authoritative.

He turned to you, his face unreadable. 

"I like you Freddie," you said, taking a few steps toward him. "I'm not worried about my image. Yes, I'm a prefect, but I don't have a broom up my arse."

Fred chuckled. You took the last few steps, finally standing in front of him. You wrapped your arms around his middle, pulling him into a hug. Your head rested perfectly against his chest, and his hands found their way into your hair. 

"I'm sorry for antagonizing Adrian," Fred said, talking into your hair. "I know that he still loves you. I shouldn't have used that against him."

"Yeah, not your brightest idea," you replied, face still buried in his chest. "Adrian will understand eventually. He won't like it, but it's not up to him."

"Godric, you're sexy," Fred said, squeezing you tighter.

You laughed. "What was that for?"

"You don't let anyone tell you what to do. It's bloody irresistible," he replied. 

"You're included in that, you know," you said.

"Oh, I am very aware," he chuckled. 

"I have to go home with Bea," you said, slowly pulling out of the hug. "See you around?"

"'See you around'? That's the best you've got?" Fred joked, kissing the top of your head. 

"You wouldn't like me if I weren't hard to get," you replied, standing on your tip toes to give him a quick kiss on the lips. 

You turned and opened the door, glancing over your shoulder at him.

"I will never stop pursuing you, birdie."

----

“Bloody prefects think they’re so perfect.” Fred continued, making George’s attention snap to the figure walking up the hallway. You. Uniform so perfect it looked like it was taken straight off a mannequin, Hair proper, prefect badge sharp and glimmering on your robes. 

Neither of the boys thought you’d do anything about the bullying. No Slytherin prefect ever did, not when it came to Draco and his little boyband. “Exhausting, isn’t it? The same people with them. Why do they even bother making Slytherin’s prefect?” George mumbled back to his brother.

But when you grabbed the back of Draco’s robes and yanked, both of them looked like they’d been electrocuted. 

“Malfoy! Merlin’s sake, really?! This again? Do I need to write to your mother about your severe lack of manners?” You hissed, glaring down at the startled boy. The rest of his group stilled, looking at eachother in pure bewilderment; no one really stopped them. Usually, they’d be disregarded by everyone because Draco was a Malfoy.

Draco gaped, “Hey– You can’t– Don’t touch me!” He hissed, cheeks flushing red in humiliation. The two Gryffindor girls stood there like deer in headlights, unsure of whether to run or stay. “Draconis Lucius Malfoy, I will go straight to Snape and write to your mother representing Slytherin House as head of the house—”

“Okay!” He huffed, completely red with humiliation now, his friends staring at him like he’d grown a second head. “What—whatever.” He sputtered, pulling away and storming off. George and Fred looked gobsmacked. No one stood up to Malfoy—barely any teachers either. It was clear the boy wasn’t used to it either, with the way he practically tripped over his own tail rushing out.

You leaned closer to the two girls, who immediately rushed over to cling to your robes and bury their faces in your belly. You smiled, heart fluttering in pure adoration, placing your hands on their hair. “You two okay? He’s all bark, I promise.” You mumbled, coaxing the girls into telling you their names.

George was practically choking on air, Fred still like he’d been turned to stone. It was a majorly confusing encounter. “It’s unnatural.” He breathed, making Fred nod quickly. “This may be a moment in Slytherin history. They’re learning compassion.” The other mumbled back, crossing his arms. “Probably some stupid ploy to get people’s guards down.”

George nodded, but his mind was slowly drifting away to the way you took each girl’s hands in your own, guiding them to their, letting them chat your ear off. It was odd—unusual for a Slytherin to be so.. nice. He didn’t really pay attention to Slytherins at all, really, but actually seeing one be nice felt like catching your brother having sex; it was seeing something he didn’t want to see cause it changed the way you thought about them.

“What’s the point of being a prefect if you don’t give me the password for the special bathroom?!” Gilderoy scoffed, scowling. He sat on the floor of your dorm as you cut his long hair into the boyish hairstyle he wanted. 

“For the last time, no. I’m not going to risk my position cause you want to take a bubblebath, Roy.” You grumbled, grabbing your wand to dispose of the scattered hair strands on your floor—gesturing for him to check out his new hairstyle. He grinned wider as he checked himself out, mumbling something about fake friends.

You sighed, getting up and nudging him on the back. “C’mon. Get dressed. I’ll go find Cedric to borrow a pair of his pants, leave your skirt on my bed.” You grumbled, slipping on your slippers. It was really early in the morning, all prefects were meant to get up early to give night round reports to the heads of their houses. 

The massive common room was cold and silent, the only sound was the distant rush of the black lake above the ceilings of the dungeons. The air got crisper upon leaving the dungeons and entering the main hallway network of the school, the newfound warmth highly welcome in the early morning. You kept walking till you hit the Hufflepuff kitchens, awkwardly standing infront of the entrance to the common room before knocking on the wooden door. “Diggory?” You called out, shoving your hands in your pockets as you waited for the guy who, barely five seconds later, swung open the door and shoved the pants in your hands. “Yeah, yeah, here–one sec. I have a situation with these two bloody fourth years–”

The door slammed in your face, you rolled your eyes.

The walk back to the dungeons was more peaceful, quieter. You took the long route; you had the time anyway. You decided to report to Snape early, moving to his office—there’s a chance he wouldn’t be there, but that just meant you could quickly jot down a written report and not have to go through the trouble of actually talking to the man.  

You passed his potions closet before stilling at a shuffle inside. You frowned. Turned. 

“Professor Snape?” You said softly, the shuffling ceased completely.

Okay. Not Snape.

You frowned, reaching for the handle. “If this is a student, I’d recommend exiting the closet before I start deducting points in the hundreds.”

An empty threat, you’d never really do that. You didn’t like getting people in trouble for small stuff like curfews or restricted areas; they were harmless offences. It wasn’t worth the trouble, put it was a good threat to whatever third or fourth year you thought snuck in there on a dare.

So when a tall, ginger bloke slipped out with the most sheepish grin on his face, wearing striped pyjamas, stood infront of you, you stilled for a second. Frowned. Tilted your head.

“George.” You said plainly, surprising him. 

“How come not Fred, hm?” He huffed, making you shrug. “Your nose. A bit crooked. Longer.”

He huffed, rolling his eyes, slipped a small jar into his pocket. “Well, go ahead. Strip me of my points.” He muttered dryly, already expecting her to remove a ridiculous amount of points from his house. All Slytherin prefects did—almost like they had a personal vendetta against the Gryffidnors. This snake is no different.

“I’ll give you a warning; if I catch you again, it’s fifty points off.” You sighed, narrowing your eyes at the boy. “Please return to Gryffindor Tower.”

George stilled, frowning down at her, before grinning. He got away scott-free?

“And give me what you just put in your pocket.”

Okay, that’s unfair.

“It’s–it’s guy stuff.”

“It’s Leech juice.”

“No it’s Fluxweed.”

“So you did take something.”

Fuck.

You grinned, hands on your hips now. “C’mon, Weasley, hand it over now. I won’t make a big deal of this.” You mused, and George deflated, his guard slowly lowering at your easy demeanour. “Yeah, whatever..”

You took the jar from him, stepping into Snape’s ingredient closet to put the Fluxweed back before stepping out. “Steal when no one will find you.” You teased, making him scoff and cross his arms. “No one was supposed to! It’s bloody five and a half in the morning, prefects aren’t to wake until six!”

“Memorizing the schedule’s dedication. There was an update. We have to wake an hour early now because they’ll be imposing morning rounds.” You said softly, smiling up at him. It was clear he didn’t expect it, frowning at you in return, squirmy. 

“Okay. I–I– Stop. Okay.” He muttered, looking away and scratching the back of his neck. You grinned wider, leaning forward. “You okay, Weasley? Your ears are going red.” He scowled, looking away before scoffing. “Oh, you wish, don’t you? Find it fun? Making me uneasy?” 

“Uneasy? I haven’t done anything.”

“You’re– You smiled!”

“My smile unsettled you? That’s just offensive, my smile’s lovely!”

“Oh, how humble, o mighty prefect.”

“Oh, nice one, are we not talking about how nice I was to not take away points even though I caught you stealing?!”

George huffed, pouted and leaned closer. “Borrowing! I’d replace it. I’m not evil, am I? Not like you and your unsettling smile.” You rolled your eyes, frowning. “Oh, is it? Is my smile unsettling? Scary? Spooky?”

You flashed him another smile purely out of spite, and he sputtered, covering his eyes. “God, it’s like staring at Medusa! You’ll turn me to stone, you gargoyle!” “Gar–Gargoyle?!” You huffed, eyes wide as you swatted his shoulder. “I am a lady!”

He stuck out his tongue, swatting you back. “Stony, lumpy gargoyle–” You gasped again, smacking him harder. “Well– Well, you’re a troll! A big, bad troll! Stupid, lousy troll!”

He gave you a light, playful push, a smile growing on his lips. “A troll, now? Not very prefect-like, is it? Insulting a student? I should report that y’know.” He mused, making you snicker softly, tilting your head up at him. “Oh, try me, ginger.”

He lazily saluted before turning away and throwing up a hand as if to bid you adieu. 

“Yeah, yeah. Bye, snakey.”

You could only giggle in response, waving despite the fact that he couldn’t see. “Bye, ginger!”

You didn’t think much about the interaction; you’re used to being nice to people, easily talking to people.

George, on the other hand, collapsed as soon as he turned the corner and practically began choking on his own spit as his face grew more and more red. It was all so unexpected. He was caught so off guard—that wasn’t supposed to happen. Not with you. He couldn’t let you make him like this, all flustered and unsteady. Slytherins were untrustworthy snakes. Sneaky, tricky, lying snakes. 

He trudged his way back to his tower before dropping himself on Fred to tell him everything. His twin offered no solace, just groaned and reinforced his worst worries: snakes aren’t to be trusted, she’s playing with you, she’s evil, don’t fall for it.

George knew, he knew. But it felt too natural with you—he didn’t even realise you and him were borderline flirting till he walked away. So easy. Why was it easy? He wasn’t the suave one. Girls rushed to Fred more than they rushed to him. Of course,  everyone usually felt the twins were interchangeable, and thus, it was the reason neither of them really dated. In fear of their girlfriend having a thing for their twin brother. 

He refused to let himself get hurt, agreeing with Fred before slipping back into bed to sleep until class really started.

Willing himself not to think of you.

Today has been a busy day. You weren’t mad about it, though.

You’d put all your effort upon becoming a prefect to become a safe person for everyone, older or younger. It worked a little bit too well.

Every free minute you had was taken from you. Fifth years rushing to you after procrastinating a potions assignment, fourth years asking for help in charms, third years asking about rumours and gossip, second year boys asking you to end arguments and second year girls running to you in hysterics when they get their periods, first years running to you in tears after feeling homesick.

It was fulfilling; you took pride in it. Always helping people, always being constant.

People noticed; you shocked everyone. It was so un-Slytherin of you, to help more than what was required of you as a prefect. More than what was required of even the Head girl or boy.  

George found it absolutely devastating—because just seeing you exist and act in a way that was seemingly normal made you plague his every thought. He couldn’t get you out of his head, his thoughts, his very being. He avoided you like the plague, but he still watched you from afar. It was like torturing himself, driving himself crazy.

It didn’t help that the entirety of Gryffindor House has an immense distaste for you; all the older kids brushed you off, regarding you as some Slytherin who finally learnt how to pretend to be likeable. George could only smile and mindlessly agree to a point. Then it became word vomit. A headache. Something he didn’t agree with to the point of physical recoil.

It didn’t help when you kept finding ways to bump into him. It wasn’t even intentional; you were just always everywhere. You were bound to spot him. Sweetheart that you were, you always tried to strike up a conversation as well. Always tried to talk to him.

Meanwhile, he’d be backing away like a feral animal with its leg caught in a trap. Not because he was worried people were right—but because they might be wrong. But they won’t accept that. George is smart enough to see through these things, to see stereotypes run deeper. They won;t accept that you’re a good person, not because they have proof otherwise, but because you’re a Slytherin. To them, it’s proof enough.

He didn’t want to go through the effort of having to hopelessly defend his totally not hopeless crush on you to everyone. It didn’t seem worth it, doing that over a girl he barely even knew. It begged the question: why did you enamour him so?

Maybe it was because you knew who he was from your very first interaction. Maybe it was because you didn’t bring up his twin whenever you two spoke—you spoke to him. Treated him like he’s his own person and not just someone’s twin. It seemed odd, feeling like the add-on twin, but he couldn’t help it. It wasn’t malice towards his brother; it was silent insecurity he refused to acknowledge. There were subtle differences in the twins that people subconsciously accepted. Fred was the name on everyone’s tongues. George was called Fred much more than Fred was called George. 

Maybe that’s why he liked you. You didn’t mistake him for Fred, nor did you try to bring up Fred in any way. Not like you were actively avoiding it, but more so that you didn’t see the point in bringing up his brother when talking to him. It was something he hadn’t come across often. Someone who spoke to him. Not the twin part of him, but the individual part.

The way it made him feel lingered, affected him enough that your face was the first he searched for in every room. 

So now, as he watched you crouch down and embrace some first-year Hufflepuff crying about missing his poodle back at home, his heart ached. Not for the boy, though it should, but because you felt like a dream he refused to let come true. Because that complicated things. 

He lingered at the end of the hall, watched your seraphic form wipe the child’s tears and assured him his poodle could indeed read the letters he sent home, before taking him by the hand and walking him to his common room. He shuddered when you disappeared from view, slumped against the wall and dragged a hand down his face.

He was screwed, he knew it. You plagued his mind like no other, and even after relentlessly watching you for days and maybe even weeks to try and prove his housemates right, that you were evil. That this was just some mask—he couldn’t. It was simply who you were. It drew him in effortlessly.

Maybe it was the definitive understanding that everyone was wrong about you that helped him grow a backbone, or maybe the thoughts of you have finally bled from his mind to his physical actions. You were sitting at the edge of the black lake, under a sweater and the dim, moody glow of the late evening. It was Saturday, one of the only days you really got to spend on your own. You savoured it.

His feet had brought him here, mainly on their own. Of course, he knew this was your Saturday spot to hang out; he’d seen you whenever he and Lee wandered about on their own. He approached you like he would a frightened animal, slowly—hesitant. 

You heard him before you saw him, turning your head before your lips curved into an easy, warm smile. “Ginger! Hi! Didn’t think you were the type to come out here.” You said with a soft tinge in your face, making his stomach flutter. He smiled, he couldn’t help but. “Hey, snakey. Mind if I sit?”

You quickly scooched to the side on your picnic basket, letting the taller boy move to your side, knees bumping into each other. You kept looking at him with that same sunshine-y grin, it nearly made him nauseous. 

You didn’t talk, didn’t try and start a conversation. Mainly because it seemed like you were trying to let him soak in the peace around you, let him feel it, enter his bones. He let it, heard the swoosh of the wind and the rush of air around them, let it ground him. Calm his erratically racing heart.

“So,” he finally began, voice breaking embarrassingly on the word. “You—You have a boyfriend?” 

You blinked at him, not expecting that question out of everything. “Uhm, no.” You murmured, making him nod his head quickly. You studied his face, looking intently enough to see the furrow of his brows and the slight downturn of his lips. 

“Would you.. Like to go to Hogsmeade with me some time—any time.” He said hastily, but you caught it anyway. The smile that grew on your lips was immediate; you leaned forward to get a better look at his face. “Are you.. Asking me on a date, George?”

He couldn’t look at you—couldn’t respond, currently in a life-or-death staring contest with the picnic blanket. His ears were completely red, and his cheeks were flushed. His hands gripped the blanket beneath him. You found it hopelessly endearing. 

Easily, you leaned over and placed a hand over his clenched one, and gave him a smile when he shot his head up in surprise. “When can we go out on that date, then?” You said softly, eliciting a small smile from him now. He scoffed, shaking his head.

This was probably a bad idea—his housemates, his own brother, his siblings and his friends. They’d all have something to say; bitter things. Defending you’d be exhausting repetition; he’d be so judged throughout it all. 

But right now? Looking at that impossibly soft look on your face that never really seemed to quite leave? He couldn’t care less if people stared.  All he could think about is that damn date, and there’s no way he’s giving up a chance to have you for himself.

There wasn't a single shop in Diagon Alley that matched the appeal of yours. In comparison, they were quite the eyesore. None, however, was more of an eyesore than the bright red monstrosity stationed across the tattered cobblestone streets.

Weasley Wizard Wheezes.

An idiotic name for an idiotic store that scammed the sickles and galleons from the pockets of children. The hatred had begun long before their opening night.

You remembered back in school having your work spread out in front of you, a stitch of fabric across your knees, thread wound so tightly around your fingers that it left angry little ridges in your skin. You liked the quiet, the sound of rustling fabric and your rhythmic humming. There was tranquillity.

Though, with the Weasley twins around.

They had been little more than pests before your sixth year, that ringing that always stuck around in the back of your head. As you hated the frumpy uniform you were always forced to wear, you would alter it often, which didn't go unnoticed by professors, landing you in many a detention with the twins and their grating laughter.

You spent one detention working on your Yule Ball dress. Slaving over it for weeks on end, sewing in hundreds of rhinestones and intricate lace, it shimmered as the surface of the ocean hitting the sun. There wasn't a minute to waste with the Yule Ball creeping up in days.

It was the sharp crack of a spell gone off behind you, the fizzing hiss before the shriek, that tore the silence apart. Your work leapt from your hands, stitches unravelling, as a cloud of garish smoke swallowed you whole.

Laughter followed.

You remember the way it crawled along your spine, how their voices carried as though they belonged to the stone itself. The smell of burnt fabric clung to your sleeves. The prank was small to them- a flick of a wand, a joke to tell later between friends. To you, it was ruin. The thread you'd been working with was scorched, the hours you'd poured into it erased in seconds.

They stood there, proud of their cleverness, their freckles catching the torchlight as if mocking you. The whole corridor seemed to join them in their laughter, though perhaps it was only in your head.

"Relax, I can undo it." The laughter finally ceased, and with the flick of Fred's wand, nothing happened. His face fell immediately. He tried the counter spell again and again, but there was nothing to bring back from the singed remains of his hard work.

There was no time to make another. Your friend lent you her second option, and there you stood alone at the Yule Ball, no date, and an ill-fitting dress draping over your figure. Even the colour looked unnatural on you. 

The months leading up to it, you were so focused on the dress, thinking of the reactions when you would walk in like you were from a fantasy novel that you hadn't bothered to find a date. You didn't think it would matter if you were the best looking there, but alas, you were not. You left the dance early and fell asleep with blisters on your heels and bags beneath your eyes. 

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

It was another late night of working on sewing commissions. Your eyes burned beneath reading glasses; they were bloodshot red and strained from years of staring at a needle through fabric beneath a steady, harsh light. You would have to make a trip to Slug & Jitters Apothecary to purchase more alleviating eyedrops.

Your music hummed gently through a speaker, just loud enough to offer a bit of background noise while you sewed multiple articles of clothing at once, constantly switching your attention to the needles grazing through cloth at the command of your magic.

A whistle split the quiet, high and shrill, followed by the unmistakable shriek of something alive and burning. You froze, needle paused mid-stitch, as glass shattered below. A scream caught in your throat as the sound of impact rattled through the floorboards. 

You were already moving, glasses abandoned on the table. Feet pounding down the stairs, breath coming quick, the smell of smoke reaching you before the sight did.

Your window was gone, blown open to the night. Shards glittered like cruel confetti across the wooden floor, crunching underfoot as you stumbled into the ruined display. A rack of dresses- weeks of work, painstaking hand-stitching, fabric you'd bartered for with favours and promises all burned bright. Scarlet tongues of flame licked at the sleeves, devouring them, turning all that labour into ash before your eyes.

It was like the sixth year was repeating in some never-ending nightmare.

You reacted on instinct. Wand out, voice sharp, the cooling charm bursting from you in a rush of magic that left the air heavy and damp. What was left sagged, blackened lace, charred velvet, silk melted to an ugly sheen.

Your heart pounded in your ears. It wasn't fear, it was rage that shot up your spine. 

Through the shattered frame, you saw it: a dying spark sputtering into the alleyway air, tail end of a firework drifting lazily back toward its makers. The glow caught for an instant against red hair in the distance, twin silhouettes framed by their own chaos, laughter carrying faintly even here.

It always led back to them. The fire had been put out with a simple spell you learned in your first year at Hogwarts, but your anger could not be cooled with all of the water in the world.

The air outside was damp, rain settling into the broken seam where your window had once been, but you didn't bother with a cloak. The silk robe you wore clung to your shoulders, slipping as you stormed into the street, glass still glittering in your hair. It did nothing to keep you warm. You crossed diagonally, slippers slapping the cobblestones, your wand clenched tight in your fist. 

You didn't knock on the door; you pounded with both fists and shouted bloody murder. YYou had nearly woken up the whole of Diagon Alley with your heat. 

Fred filled the doorway, hair an unholy mess, shirt hanging open as if the buttons had lost the fight hours ago. His twin appeared over his shoulder, yawning, equally undone- as though the two of them had been swallowed whole by their work and spat out sleepless.

Their shop still crackled faintly behind them, fireworks leaving the scent of burnt sugar and gunpowder heavy in the air. The same scent that clung to your ruined dresses.

"Well, well," George muttered, voice thick with exhaustion, though his grin still slanted as if amusement was muscle-deep. "Our midnight caller."

"A bit late for a fitting, isn't it?" Fred added.

Your rage snapped. "You—" The words shook in your throat, sharpened by smoke. "You broke my window."

Fred blinked, unimpressed, though his eyes flicked briefly over the robe, the shards caught in your hair. George shoved his hand into a pocket, pulled something loose, and before you could demand retribution, a cool weight clinked into your palm.

Galleons. A heap of them.

"Replacement costs," George said simply, shrugging, as though money could scrub out ash, mend silk, or stitch seams whole again. "Window, dresses, dignity- whatever you lost tonight, yeah?"

Fred stifled a yawn into his hand, leaning against the doorframe, utterly careless. "We'll add extra for your troubles if you like. But it was a spectacular burst, admit it."

The coins burned against your skin. They couldn't pretend to care that they had destroyed your store. Why would they when they can throw money at all of their issues? "I will take extra for my troubles."

Fred looked taken aback when you held your hand out. He begrudges and digs around his pocket for spare galleons before dumping them into your palm.

"And I'll take more for the repair fees," You add on, not moving your outstretched hand. 

It's George now who drops more into your hand. You knew they wouldn't turn you down when you could very well make a case against them. "Run us out of house and home, will ya?"

"Yeah, I plan to," You push around the coins in your hand, counting them.

"Good, because we'd hate to have boring neighbours," George grins.

"And you might wanna tie that robe a bit tighter the next time you come hollering at us," Fred looks you up and down before shutting the door on you. 

You look down at your body, and he wasn't entirely wrong, and that's what made you simmer. The silk was pooling right above your nipple, nearly exposing you entirely. You bite your lip, eyes wide with wrath as you glare at the store window.

Raising your wand to the Weasley's Wizard Wheezes sign, the letters begin to morph and rearrange themselves until they become something new entirely. The bright red shop now displaying 'Weasley's Tantalizing Taints'

It was petty. You were petty. There was no remorse for those who have no remorse for you.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

It was a small victory, but it tasted sweet.

By midday, your robe was traded for your work clothes, your hands busy with pins and chalk as you knelt to hem a witch's dress. The bell above your shop door rang- its usual bright chime- but no one entered. You glanced up, a frown tugging at your brow.

The bell rang again. Still, no one.

And then you noticed. The window display. Empty.

The mannequins that had stood there proudly in their charmed gowns were gone, nothing but a hollow stretch of sunlight left behind.

You stood so fast that the stool scraped against the floorboards. Your client blinked, startled, as you shoved the finished garment into her hands, your words rushed and tight. "I'll owl you about the final adjustments, thank you, truly, I have to-" and then you were moving, practically running to the door.

The scream caught you first. High, shrill, rushing past your shopfront as a witch bolted by, her hat skewed, bag clutched to her chest.

You stepped into the street just in time to see them.

Your mannequins.

But not still and docile, not graceful figures for fabric. No. They moved. Jerking, stumbling, their plaster faces leering grotesquely. One had its stiff wooden hand outstretched, pawing at a wizard's cloak. Another had a gown half-shredded, dragging its hems like entrails as it chased after a group of shrieking students. They clattered on cobblestones with hollow, echoing thuds, animated by enchantments that reeked of Weasley chaos.

The crowd was in hysterics, half-horror, half-amused. Someone shouted, "Is this a new Wheezes product?" A child laughed, clutching her mother's skirts as one mannequin bowed stiffly before her, then lunged.

Your face burned hot.

You shoved through the onlookers, wand already in hand, heart hammering with fury. Each mannequin bore your mark, your stitches, your work now twisted into mockery, terrorizing Diagon Alley while their creators no doubt watched from across the way with smug delight.

It was humiliation. A spectacle.

And as you raised your wand to wrestle your mannequins back under control, your fury sharpened into something stronger, colder. 

"Stop it!" You hiss, smacking the mannequins to get them to stop squirming, but it only seems to agitate them further. Their non-existent faces turn to look at one another like they are saying, 'Can you believe this?' before they turn back to you and begin flailing at random.

"Oh, sod off!" You yell, grabbing one by the arm, it detaches from your grip and you begin to hit them with it. If they were more intelligent beings, you may have been frightened; they were only as smart as the twins had enchanted them to be. In the midst of the fighting, an owl swoops overhead, nearly taking your head off. Its claws release a letter which flutters to the ground.

It's addressed to you, with 'save the date!' along the bottom. Before you can make out what it says, the amputee mannequin snatches the letter from you and hobbles away, leaving you to chase after it.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The bell above your door chimed, and you nearly groaned aloud. After the mannequins- the shrieking, the laughter, the embarrassment- you had been waiting. Waiting for the next blow, for fireworks stuffed in the hem of a gown, for itching powder sprinkled across your bolts of velvet.

So when the door creaked open, you braced yourself. Wand tucked just inside your sleeve, words already sharp on your tongue.

Fred Weasley stepped through.

Of course it was him. Taller than you remembered from school, shoulders broad, hair tossed like he hadn't seen a comb in days. He smelled faintly of smoke and peppermint — the lingering perfume of the shop across the street.

"Not selling fireworks today?" you asked, voice flat, cutting.

He didn't grin. Not fully. Just the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth, quickly pressed down as though he'd swallowed it back. His hands, usually restless, stayed shoved into his pockets. His eyes darted to the bolts of fabric stacked high, then to you, then away again.

"I need a suit."

You blinked. For a moment, you wondered if this was the prank. That he'd peel back the request, laugh, and reveal some monstrosity of a fake order, dress robes that burst into song, trousers that vanished mid-step.

Your lips curved tight. "Try Quality Quidditch Supplies. They might have something in your style."

"Not for me," he said quickly, jaw tightening. "For Bill's wedding."

Bill. The name hung in the air, softening it in ways you hated.

He shifted, drawing a pouch from his pocket, and tossed it onto the counter. The sound of galleons clinking against wood was jarring in the quiet. Far more than a commission should cost.

You stared. He didn't flinch.

"I know you hate me," Fred said, voice low, tired in a way you weren't used to hearing. "But you're the best here. And I need it done right."

He was serious. He'd come here, into your space, asking for something real.

And the worst of it? He'd forced you to look at him differently,  not laughing, not mocking, but standing there with his pride hung up like a cloak left at the door.

You hated him for that. Hated that your first instinct wasn't to throw the money back, but to imagine him standing on a raised platform while you wrapped a measuring tape around his shoulders.

Still, your words came out clipped, cold, betraying nothing.

"Fine. But you don't get to complain if the collar chokes you."

This time, his smile did break through, tired, but sharp.

"I'd expect nothing less."

You had directed him over to the corner of the boutique where you kept patterns and mockups. The measuring tape felt heavier than usual between your fingers. You tugged it taut, sharp enough that Fred actually flinched when you wound it across his shoulders.

"Stay still," you hissed.

"I am still," he muttered, though his weight shifted, hands twitching at his sides like he didn't know what to do with them. His hair was worse up close, tangled, curls catching in the lamplight- and his shirt hung loose, collarbones visible where buttons were left undone. He hadn't even bothered to dress properly for a fitting. Typical.

You circled him with the tape, swift, efficient. Around the chest, down the arm, brushing against his wrist as you noted the length. He squirmed again when your knuckles grazed his side.

"You ticklish, Weasley?" you asked, voice dry.

His ears went pink. "Only where you're... poking."

"I'm not poking. I'm working." You gave the tape a sharp tug around his ribcage. He coughed. You smirked, just faintly. "Stop wriggling or I'll stitch you into something ghastly on purpose."

"Merlin forbid," he murmured, though his voice caught faintly as you crouched to measure inseam, your hand ghosting over his thigh as you guided the tape straight. His breath hitched but you pretended not to notice. Professional. Detached.

"What kind of suit?" you asked, tone clipped, brisk. The tape snapped against his leg as you straightened. "Colours, fabrics, trims. What's the dress code for this grand affair?"

Fred blinked at you, eyes faintly glassy. He cleared his throat, voice low. "Formal. Fleur's taste, not Bill's. She wants... French. Elegant. The sort of thing you'd sneer at if you saw it in a shop window."

"I sneer at everything in shop windows," you said flatly, jotting his numbers down on your pad.

"Exactly," he said, and to your irritation, the corners of his mouth tilted in a grin again.

You kept working, ignoring the warmth of his skin where your fingers brushed too close, ignoring the way he shifted as though every accidental graze unravelled him further. Your face stayed calm, professional.

You scribbled the last of his numbers into your pad, the page smudged faintly with graphite where your fingers had pressed too hard. The measuring tape snapped closed with a flick of your wrist, the sound sharp in the quiet.

Fred rolled his shoulders, exhaling as though he'd survived some great ordeal. "I'll take pictures at the wedding," he said lightly, trying for casual, though his voice was still rough at the edges. "So you can see how it turns out. Bit of a portfolio piece, yeah?"

You didn't look up, didn't give him the satisfaction of eye contact. "There's no need," you said briskly, pen scratching across parchment as you tallied fabric estimates. "I'll see it myself. I'll be there."

That made him pause.

You felt his gaze on you, heavy, searching. A long silence stretched, filled only by the faint scratching of your pen. When you finally glanced up, his mouth had tilted into something between surprise and a smile, caught halfway like he didn't dare show too much.

"Right," he said at last, softer. "Then I'll try not to disgrace your work."

You snapped your notebook shut, forcing the air back to business. "See that you don't."

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The Leaky Cauldron is quieter at this hour, a low hum of conversation hanging in the air, punctuated by the occasional clink of tankards. The candles have burned low, casting everything in amber glow and shadow. You're tucked into a corner with a half-drained glass, the warmth of firewhisky spreading through your chest, when you hear it,his laugh.

You'd know it anywhere.

Fred Weasley.

He looks as dishevelled as you feel, his shirt collar askew, hair mussed like he's run his hands through it a hundred times. He spots you before you can look away. His grin flashes across the room, smug and knowing, and then he's striding over, drink in hand.

"Well, well," he drawls, dropping into the chair across from you without asking. "Didn't think I'd run into my least favourite neighbour tonight."

You roll your eyes, but it's weaker than you'd like, softened by the heat in your cheeks. "Don't flatter yourself. I came here to drink in peace, not listen to your insufferable jokes."

"And yet," he says, raising his glass toward you in mock toast, "Here you are."

You clink your glass against his with a sharp ting, more forceful than friendly. The whisky burns smoother the second time, loosening the edges of your anger.

It starts harmless enough, sniping over who can hold their liquor better, trading barbs about his ridiculous products and your "endlessly dull" dress commissions. But as the night wears on, the words slow, soften. His knee brushes yours under the table, not entirely by accident, and when you look up, his gaze lingers too long.

"You're different when you drink," he murmurs, leaning in, his breath warm with firewhisky.

"And you're just as irritating," you shoot back, though your voice comes out lower, throat tight.

His grin curves, sharp, wolfish, amused. "Admit it. You like me this way and you're just playing hard to get."

Your laugh bursts out, sharp and derisive, though the warmth in your chest betrays you. You lean in until your noses are almost touching, your smirk matching his.

"Hard to get?" you repeat, tilting your head, voice low and dangerous. "Fred Weasley, don't flatter yourself. If anything, you're the one chasing. You're the one who wants me."

His grin falters for a beat, surprise flickering across his face before it curves back, slower this time, a little tighter. "Is that so?" he murmurs.

You take a slow sip of your drink, never breaking eye contact, savoring the way his bravado strains under the weight of your words. "I think you've wanted me for a very, very long time," you say, letting the edge of a smile play at your lips. "And you don't quite know what to do about it."

The air between you sharpens, no room for laughter now. His gaze drops to your mouth for the barest second before meeting your eyes again, darker this time.

"Careful," he says softly, almost a warning, though there's no real conviction behind it. His leg presses more firmly against yours beneath the table, the kind of touch that feels like a challenge.

And suddenly, the Leaky Cauldron feels too small, the air too heavy, the distance between you unbearable.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The wedding is lively, so much so that you're afraid they may take down the tent. Your dress, deep blue and flowing like midnight caught in silk, sways around your legs as you move, the hem brushing just above polished floors.

Heads turn, but you barely notice. You're scanning, always scanning, eyes seeking the familiar shock of red hair across the room. And there he is.

Fred.

He looks... impossible. Sharp in a tailored suit that you hand-crafted, hands relaxed at his sides, grinning in that way that makes the back of your neck prickle. And somehow, without either of you speaking, the room narrows. The music, the laughter, the chatter- all blur except for the pull of those green eyes, just as sharp, just as mischievous as ever.

George is next to him, looking far less dapper in a suit you did not make.

You dance, glass in hand, letting the motion carry you. Every turn, every sway, every tilt of your head is a silent message. It's you silently screaming. And he screams back. Catching your gaze from across the floor, the corners of his mouth quirk with amusement, a brow raised, like he's daring you to look away.

You sip wine, smooth and bitter on your tongue, letting it steady your pulse even as it rises at the thought of him measuring you in his mind, even from this distance. Every glance he throws your way sends warmth curling low in your stomach.

When he moves closer, weaving through dancing couples with that easy grace that makes him infuriatingly magnetic, the air between you hums. Not words, not touches yet- just heat, proximity, the electricity of long-held rivalry tipping into something unspoken.

Your eyes meet again. And again. Each time, a little longer. Each time, a little harder to look away. Even more so when you see him chatting up with a woman, her elegantly gloved hand resting on his bicep. 

By the end of the night, the wine is gone, the dancing slows, but the tension remains- taut, alive, waiting for the moment when one of you finally closes the distance.

You settle into a cluster of familiar faces, the hall warm around you, music soft in the background. Fred is nearby, leaning casually against a doorway, but his presence is sharp, like a blade under silk. You catch his gaze and tilt your head just enough to meet it- the old spark flaring faintly, dangerous and insistent.

"You really should have matched that colour better," you murmur under your breath about Fred's tie. It wasn't what you had intended to say, but your mouth moved faster than your thinking.

"Excuse me?" he says, loud enough for the circle to turn.

"What?" you snap, flicking your hair. "I'm giving you advice. Not like I made that suit or anything."

"Ah, yes. I remember your advice from school- invaluable, as always."

 "And you're sleeping around as always."

A friend chuckles nervously. Another fidgets, trying to change the subject. The tension coils tighter, electric, and no matter how small the remark, it lands like a spark on dry tinder.

"Not in the mood to be nice tonight?" he says, voice low but cutting.

Percy clears his throat, his face tight, serious. "Would you two please gather more glasses from the kitchen?"

You both pause, blinking at him.

"For...?" you ask, voice flat, but your glare already sharp enough to make him flinch.

"To... move your arguing away from everyone," Percy says firmly, exasperation edging his words. "We're trying to have a wedding, not a duel."

Fred smirks at you, head tilting, but his eyes are bright, mischievous, alive. "Looks like we're being exiled. Shall we?"

You fold your arms, cheeks flushed, and glance over your shoulder at the group, relieved for the excuse, though unwilling to back down. "Don't touch me." You put a hand up, refusing to take the arm he had offered

The short walk to the burrow is silent. You seem to have squandered Fred's confidence.

The kitchen is darker than you expected, shadows pooling around the corners of the room as you and Fred search for the crate of wine glasses. The air is thick, warm from the ovens long cooled, the scent of roasted meats lingering faintly. Every step echoes, every scrape of your hands against cupboards magnified.

"You're hopeless at this," you snap, rifling through the racks.

Fred's laugh is low, teasing- but there's an edge that makes your teeth clench. "And you're... delightfully demanding," he shoots back, eyes flashing. "I forgot how unbearable you could be."

"Unbearable?" you hiss, turning to glare at him. "You scam little children for a living, and I'm unbearable?"

He takes a step closer. Too close. Too fast. You flinch, and the air between you charges, thick and electric. Every glance, every breath, every tilt of your head seems amplified here, away from the group.

"Yeah, you are. Even had something to say about the suit you made."

"Because you're wearing a polyester tie!" You hiss.

"What's the difference?!"

Your hands brush as you both reach for the same crate, fingers tangling for just a moment, and the contact sparks through you, setting nerves alive. You pull back instinctively, but his gaze doesn't falter- it holds you, sharp and intense. "I hate you so much,"

"You're so fucking hot." He shakes his head, and you jump on him, face smashing into his, hands sliding into his hair. His calloused hands find their way to your waist, and he sharply turns you to face away from him, bending you over the counter. 

"Fuck me," You mutter. Fred unzips your dress, watching it slip down your body and pool around your stiletto heels. Hee lets out a low whistle upon seeing your bare figure shiver against the cold air. 

Fred began grinding his hardening cock into your ass, pressing you further into the counter. One hand remained wound around your hair, while the other dragged slowly across the top of your lace panties. You whimpered, spreading your legs further apart to give him access. He chuckled darkly. "So eager," Fred whispered into your ear, slipping his thick fingers into the front of your panties, groaning when he felt your drenched folds. "I always knew you were wet for me." he murmured. All you could do was nod your head.

Fred slipped a finger into your pussy, your copious slick easing his entrance. You choked out a moan, pressing even harder into his crotch, smiling when you felt him stiffen even further. "Only for you," you said softly.

"That's right," he growled into your ear, pressing further into your warm wetness. The stimulation made your head spin, but the hard press of his cock pulled you out. There was something you needed even more than this, and something you knew Fred would go crazy for after hearing stories of triumphs from friends of friends over the years.

"I need to suck your cock," you moaned, pulling Fred’s finger from your cunt and immediately enveloping it into your mouth, lips suctioning and tongue caressing. Fred groaned brokenly, and then you met his eyes and said the words you knew would trigger him: "And I want you to fuck my mouth."

You saw Fred's eyes widen a bit, and then immediately a feral, slightly deranged glint swirled in his eyes. "God, you are so fucking perfect," he whispered. "I need you to beg for it, sweet thing."

"Freddie, please," you moaned loudly, and the next thing you knew he was spinning you around, the movement twisting your hair in his hand even more, sending another pain-pleasure jolt through your body.

"Yeah, you want this cock down your throat, baby?" Fred groaned, yanking your hair back slightly. "You want me to fuck your mouth?" All you did in response was drop to your knees, mouth wide open, pink tongue hanging out like a welcome mat for his dick.

"God, you're dirty," Fred muttered, pulling down his sweats, his hard length bobbing slightly. In one motion, he lined himself up and slid into your warm, wet mouth. Fred groaned, his hold on the back of your head tightening again, drawing out a whimper from you which vibrated down his shaft. "Such a perfect little slut."

You began to move your mouth up and down his length, keeping your throat relaxed so he could get as deep as possible. Fred used his hand in your hair to guide your mouth, starting off slow to get you warmed up, and then progressively speeding up. Soon he was fucking into your mouth with passion, your throat making wet squelching sounds, mixed in with your moans every time he threw hiis head back. Your body was buzzing, feeling alive with a flood of endorphins counteracting the sting of your scalp. You rubbed your thighs together, trying to find friction, and then suddenly Fred ripped your mouth off of his cock with a pop. You looked up at him with surprise in your eyes, your lips still in an O shape from the facefucking. He groaned at the sight, but pulled you to your feet. He'd fill that mouth with his cum another day, but not today.

"I need to fuck you so bad," he gritted out, tearing off his blazer, fumbling with the zipper of his trousers as he guides you to the couch. There he lies back. He wasn't anticipating work.

His length glistening with your saliva. Now naked, swinging your legs over his, you hovered over his lap, facing away from him, knowing how crazy he got for reverse cowgirl from rumours caught between breath. Just as you predicted, you heard Fred groan again, reaching down to spread your folds apart to watch it swallow his cock slowly as you both moaned at the feeling. With one leg braced against the floor and the other folded so your shin laid against the couch cushions, you started a slow rocking movement, rolling your hips as you slide up and down his shaft. You leaned forward, bracing your hands on his ankles, spreading yourself wide so he could watch his cock disappear in and out of you.

"You're dripping down me," Fred said, intoxicated by the sight before him. Your slick running down his hardness in rivulets, soaking his curls; your cream staining a ring at his base. He swiped a finger through it, slipping his digit into his mouth. "God, you taste so fucking good, too" he whispered hoarsely, making you clench against him.

"Freddie, pull my hair, please," you beg, riding him faster. He sat up to gather your hair in one hand again, jerking it back and ripping a moan from your throat. Your pussy spasmed, pulling a growl from him as well. He gripped your hip with his other hand, planted his feet on the cushions, and bucked up into you.

Your back bowed as Fred continued to thrust up, yanking your hair periodically to release a lightning bolt of pain-pleasure through your body. He pulled your head further back until he could whisper into your ear. "I want you to cum on my cock." 

You released your hold on his ankles, sitting up and spreading your legs wide. Slipping one hand down your chest, you caressed and tugged your nipples before continuing down your torso and stroking your fingers across where the two of you were joined. You stroked Fred's shaft as it plunged in and out of your folds, making him groan and press his head into the couch. Gathering the cream and slick at his base, you swirled it over your clit, moaning at the sensation. Your fingers pressed tight circles around the pearl, rocketing you towards your release. Fred bucked even harder into you, making your cunt squeeze him even tighter.

"You feel so good," Fred says, breathing harder. 

You moan, swirling faster and faster, pussy tightening intensely, right on the precipice. "I need more."

Fred grabs your hair, yanking hard, as he whispers in your ear, "Cum for me, now."

And you cliff dive right off the edge into one of the hardest orgasms in your life.

Your mouth opens up in a scream, but your orgasm is so intense that no sound comes out. Your body feels like it freezes completely and then explodes all at once. Waves of slick pulse down Fred's dick, soaking him and the cushions underneath, as he moans deeply, holding onto your hips and shoving himself as deep in you as possible, grinding to prolong your euphoria. You finally catch your breath, and a long, ragged moan erupts out of your throat.

Fred grabs your hips and starts thrusting with abandon into you, as you collapse forward, taking hold of his ankles once again. You bend over almost in half, giving him an unobstructed view of your puffy, soaked cunt. You bite at his shins, whining, taking and taking and taking.

"God, Fred, you fuck me so good," you mewl. "I want you to fill me up."

"Oh yeah?" Fred says breathlessly, fucking into you at a blinding pace, chasing his own high. "You want me to fill this messy pussy up with my cum, make it even messier?" His hips are a blur now, the sound of his hips slapping into your wet thighs echoing in the room. "I'm going to cum so deep in you that you'll be dripping for days."

"Yes, Fred, fucking fill me up. Fill up my pussy, I wanna be full of nothing but you," you moan.

That snaps the final tether, and Fred thrusts once, twice, three times and then buries his cock as deeply into you as possible, nearly roaring in pleasure, bruising your hips with his fingers, painting your drenched walls with his cum.

You lay on top of his legs, pussy weeping a mixture of your releases, both of you breathing hard. You pulse your cunt on him, his breath hitches from overstimulation. Slowly, you sit up and slide off of his shaft, pressing your fingers to your center to stem the flow of your juices. 

You throw your legs off him, collapsing beside the now out-of-breath Fred Weasley. "I knew you wanted me."

You were tightly wound from months of tension. While there had been no shortage of heat-stoking intimacy and dizzying kisses leaving you whiny and breathy, it had always stopped of anything that would actually satisfy the growing beast in your core. And while you hoped you were successfully hiding how much it affected you, part of you wished they would notice it. You closed your eyes, taking a shaky breath. The boyish laughter in the background was not helping with your growing affliction. 

“Angel?” James chuckled, damp hair falling in front of his eyes. 

“Yeah?” You turned your head in Sirius’ lap. 

“We’ve been trying to get your attention, lovely.” James crawled on top of you, muscles shifting intricately under his white tank. You noticed how he was careful not to pile too much weight onto Sirius. He slid down, laying his head on your stomach and wrapped an arm around Remus, making the tall boy begrudgingly put his book down. 

“Oh, sorry. I was distracted.” You ran your hands through James’ hair. 

“Distracted?” Sirius drawled. He was trailing his fingers teasingly on your neck now. You repressed the urge to shiver. 

“Distracted.” You parroted back awkwardly. You couldn’t tell if the heat was from the amount of bodies crammed into the bed or the effect that they were having on you. James looked up at you with a playful grin. He reached a hand up to caress your cheek. His grin grew wider.

“Your face is warm, darling.” Mirth was dripping from his eyes. 

“Is it?” You swallowed hard. Sirius’ painted digits pressed into your jaw. He chuckled darkly at what he found.

“Her pulse is fucking hammering” His wicked fingers dipped under the collar of your shirt. 

“Oh,” Remus cooed, tone indicating that he didn’t feel that bad. “What’s the matter, dovey?” 

“Nothing.” You choked out, knowing that your body was completely betraying you. 

“I don’t know,” Sirius provoked. “I think it’s something. Don’t you, Prongs?” He moved to pet James’ head. 

“Oh, you’re definitely right.” James kissed your exposed collarbone. “C’mon, sweetheart. Talk to us.” 

You wanted to laugh. If they really wanted you to talk, couldn’t they make it a bit easier? You just groaned, hiding your face in Sirius’ thigh.

“No. None of that.” Remus gripped your chin to move your face, not letting you be shielded. “Use your words.” 

“You’re so mean.” You whined. 

“Aw, baby.” James cooed. “We’re just trying to help you. We can’t know what you want if you don’t tell us.” He slipped his hand under the hem of your shirt, gripping your waist lovingly. 

“You know what you’re doing.” You narrowed your eyes. You were trying to look intimidating but failing miserably. Remus turned your face towards his, capturing you in a kiss. You moaned against your will, arching your back up. All your muscles felt so tense, begging for release. Sirius kept stroking your hair. 

“Just tell us what’s wrong.” Sirius’ grin was all teeth when you looked up at him. 

“Gah.” You groaned in failure. “I don’t even know. I’m just so worked up and you’re not helping.” You pouted. 

“Aw, I’m sorry dove.” Remus clearly did not feel bad. “Want us to make it better?” 

You nodded rapidly, eyes wide. Remus cocked an eyebrow at you. “Yes, please. Make it better.” You all but begged. 

“Alright, baby dove.” Remus laughed. "We'll be nice." He kissed you again, moving over your cheeks and neck. James was kissing your chest, tugging the collar of your shirt down to expose more skin. You struggled to hold back wanton moans. 

“Can I lift this up, angel?” James tugged at your shirt, looking pointedly at your nipples peaking through your shirt. 

“Yes please.” 

He tugged you away from Sirius and Remus, though the boys didn’t complain. Sirius was tugging Remus up by his mousy hair to kiss him aggressively, while James lifted your shirt to your collarbone, exposing your chest to his ministrations. He grabbed at your breast with one hand, kissing over your nipple until you were dizzy. He then moved down, kissing lower and lower. 

“Christ, just get this shit off.” Sirius growled at you. He impatiently moved you to sit up, tugging your shirt off the rest of the way. “You too, Prongs.” 

His eyebrows flew up behind his glasses. “Someone’s demanding today.” He complied though, pulling his white undershirt off and flinging it somewhere across the room. Sirius just narrowed his eyes at James and tried to pull Remus back. 

“The two of you.” Remus shook his head disapprovingly but you could see the affection swirling in his irises. “Do I have to tell you what to do with your mouths?”

“I think I know exactly what to do with my mouth.” Sirius sassed, moving down to Remus' neck.

“I know what I want to do with my mouth.” James tugged at your shorts, looking up at you with huge pupils. You choked back a moan. 

“Is that okay with you, honey?” Remus asked you gently. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want. Just say the word and we stop, okay?”

“I would like that.” You said, barely more than a whisper. James gave you another boyish grin and went back to kissing down your torso. 

“On second thought, I don't think I know what to do.” Sirius tested. He crawled off of the mattress, standing at the foot of the bed. He batted his lashes at Remus, clearly testing the tall boys patience. He stalked over to where Sirius was standing, looking down at him.

“You think you’re so smart, don’t you?” He kissed him roughly before getting on his knees in front of him. Your attention was pulled back to the boy between your legs when you felt thick fingers slipping into the waistband of your shorts. 

“I’m gonna take these off, okay?” James waited for you to nod before he pulled them off. He crawled off the bed, pulling your ankles to tug you right to the end of the mattress. Your underwear was removed before he opened your legs wider. This situation was too much in the best way. James was kissing down to your waiting pussy, glasses being knocked up his nose and hair messy while you were being stared down by Sirius, who was close enough to massage your thigh while he was being sucked off, his moans ringing deliciously through your ears. 

James’ tongue met your clit, making you throw your head back in ecstasy. “Oh, shit.” You whined. He was gentle as he pleasured you, wiggling his tongue softly into your pussy, flicking up towards your swollen bead and then back down to your hole. Your thighs started to tense. You knew you were getting there embarrassingly fast, both from James’ expertise and the arousal that had been building in your body. You fought to close your legs around James' head, but he held fast, keeping you spread open for him.

“Fuck, that’s so hot.” Sirius groaned. “You should fucking see yourself, babydoll.” He knotted his fingers in Remus’ fluffy hair, rutting his hips to chase his high. “Godammit.” He grunted, cumming down Remus’ throat. You hid behind your hands to protect yourself from his voyeuristic gaze.

When Remus got up, James pulled his lips off of your clit with a lewd popping sound, making you cry out. You bucked your hips back up, chasing for more pleasure. 

“Shh, it’s okay, sweetheart.” James chuckled, rubbing your hip comfortingly. He slipped two fingers into your pussy, curling them up. Remus' attention was now on you as he leant over you, kissing your neck. 

“How does her pussy taste, Prongs?” Sirius drawled, petting your thigh with a blissful look in his eyes. 

“So fucking good.” James kept his fingers working a perfect motion. 

“Alright, give me a try.” Sirius pulled James up impatiently. James brought his fingers up to the shorter boy’s mouth, the same fingers that were just inside you. Without hesitation Sirius sucked them into his mouth, moaning around the digits. You whined at the spectacle in front of you. 

“Christ, lads. She’s halfway to death over here.” Remus chuckled, palming at your breast. 

“Alright.” Sirius rolled his eyes, getting on his knees in front of you. “Are you gonna let me have a turn, sweet girl?” He pinched your side affectionately. 

“Yes please.” You moaned. 

Sirius laughed at you, pressing his face into your cunt. You almost screamed in ecstasy. He wasted no time with teasing, licking into you with vigorous hunger as his gray eyes bore into you. Remus and James moved to hold your legs apart, spreading you open completely before Sirius. “Fuck, such a sweet little pussy.” He groaned, before returning to his work. 

“That’s a good boy.” Remus groaned, putting his hand on the back of Sirius’ head to push him further into your cunt. “Y’ making her feel so good.” Sirius moaned into your pussy, doubling down. 

“Shit, shit, shit!” Your thighs shook hard, spasms flowing through your whole body. 

“That’s it, angel. Come for us.” James kissed your cheek. It didn’t take long to follow his directions, tumbling off the edge of pleasure. Your moans were shameless, slipping into incoherent whines when you got to be too sensitive. Sirius licked his fingers as he came up for air, face flushed and eyes starry. 

“Fuck, gorgeous. You’re killer.” He praised. Pleasurable embarrassment washed over you. You shut your legs, looking up at the three boys. 

“Are you okay, sweet girl?” Remus stroked your jaw, all feigned sternness void from his face. 

“I’m brain dead.” You giggled. 

“I think that’s a job well done then.” James grabbed your hand, bringing it to his mouth to adorn it with kisses. You looked between him and Remus, playful hesitancy written in your features. 

“What about you two?” You questioned. 

“You still got some steam in you?” James looked at you wide-eyed. You nodded. 

“…yes,” you whimper.

“Then fucking arch it.”

You sniffle. “Okay.”

He breaks character and huffs out a laugh as he watches you continue to helplessly stretch and squelch around him, making a creamy mess all along his shaft. He straightens his back, big hands now firmly grabbing your hips as he picks up the pace.

“Yeahh—stay right there,” his chest rumbles as he lets out a low, drawn-out groan. The smack of his hips growing louder, driving himself right into that little spot that won’t stop screaming for his attention.

It has his attention now.

The new angle had you whining into the pillow, absolutely reeling from how good he was at this, despite his complaints. He knows how to be rough. Nearly lifting you off the bed once he starts pulling your hips back, heavy balls smacking against your sensitive clit as he makes you meet each and every rough thrust he delivers.

“F-fuckk!” you choke out, barely able to form a coherent sentence as you start babbling out a bunch of words.

“So fuckin’ spoiled.” He complains, but just barely. “C’mon brat—you’ve been working me like a fuckin’ dog, give it to me already.”

“I know, I’m sorry.” He doesn’t believe you. You sound like you’re in heaven right now. “Mmhh—I love you so much.” His scowl deepens. “So, so much—you’re so fucking big.“

“Tch.” He grabs a handful of your hair, then yanks you back until you’re up against his chest, lips grazing your ear while muttering in it. “I don’t want an apology. What I want is for you to cum on my fuckin’ cock already. Or should I just stop?”

“No, no don’t! Please! I’m trying, I swear,” you begin to plead with the man.

“Try harder.” Then he smiled, because he felt you squeeze around him. “Jesus Christ—you need to me talk you through it too? The chocolates supposed to make you horny, sweetheart. Not useless.”

“It’s not my fault,” you whimper, and squeeze around him again, pulling a condescending huff out of him.

“You poor thing,” he hums. “Probably spent the whole day waiting for me to come home so I could make you feel better, huh?”

His breath tickles your ear and you nearly moan. “Mhm—I thought about it all day.”

“Well aren’t you sweet,” he mutters, tone as condescending as ever. “You got what you wanted, too. I’ve been taking care of you for a while now. How many times have I cum in you now?”

“I… I don’t know—“

“Of course you fuckin’ don’t.” He cuts you off, unamused by your answer. “Want me to do it again? Fill you up, make you feel all nice and warm?”

“Please.”

“Give me what I want then. If these sheets aren’t soaked by the time I’m about to cum again, I’m pulling out and finishing on your face,” he lets go of your hair and begins to laugh. You don’t get much of a chance to react before you feel the pads of his fingers on your clit, pulling a gasp out of you once he starts rubbing little circles on top of already fucking you. “Heh—let’s see if playing with this cute little clit saves you.”

And he knows you don’t deserve it—any of it, honestly. Unfortunately, he can’t help himself, not with the reactions he gets out of you. He married you for many reasons—getting to spend the rest of his life with a squirter was one of them. The moment your breathing grows labored and you sound like you’re gonna start to cry, his lids grow heavy and he starts saying all the things he told himself he wouldn’t say today.

"Yeahhh, that’s it, baby—fuuuuck—takin’ it so good.” He is fucking gone. Voice thick, filled with nothing but lust and awe as he presses against your lower belly. “C’mon, you want it here, right? Yeah, you know what to do—don’t let some fuckin’ asshole finish on your sweet little face.”

Yes. Your husband just degraded himself. And you just egg him on without meaning to. You were already whining about how it was too much, the incoherent “want it inside,” just made it better worse.

“I will, I’ll give you so fuckin’ much if you just give me one—just one. Easy. Shit—I’ll fill you up as much as you want afterwards.” He doesn’t know what he’s saying, but that doesn’t matter when it’s what has you crying and trembling and finally gushing around his cock.“Yeah, that’s it. That’s it, that’s—fuuuuck yeah. Good job, sweetheart—good fuckin’ job. Fuck.”

Funny enough, he came right after you, which was a relief because that meant his job was done and he was finally able to give his dick a fucking break after hours of feeling like he was working for free, when he had already worked a regular eight hour shift prior. The biggest relief of all was seeing you lie limp in bed, after slightly worrying if you ever actually would.

He leans over you with a smug smile, already having forgotten how much you pissed him off earlier as he moved some hair away from your face. Checking to see if you’re actually asleep or not, then feeling a deep sense of peace when seeing that you are. He presses a kiss against your cheekbone, and in the most loving way hopes you stay that way because he cannot do that again. Then finally, he gets up to use the bathroom.

The peace is only lasts four steps until it’s completely shattered again when he hears your weak voice.

“Are you ready to go again?”

his jaw tightens, and he exhales real slow through his nose like he's doing breathing exercises or something. the rings on his fingers are cold where they press into the plush of your hip through your shirt. "m' f-fine."

you roll your hips back. not even fully on purpose, just adjusting your weight, finding a better spot to sit, totally innocent. and he makes this sound, this embarrassing punched-out exhale that he tries to swallow halfway through, and you feel him twitch hard against you, the whole length of him, and okay. okay so he's genuinely not fine.

you don't say anything yet. you're generous like that.

except then he shifts beneath you, trying to create some distance between his cock and your ass, which, noble effort, completely useless, because all it does is grind him up against you at a different angle, and he has to bite down on the inside of his cheek so hard you hear it.

"choso." different tone this time. he knows because his grip goes tighter.

"i know," he grits out, voice dropped low, "i'm sorry. jus' don't move."

that's the funniest thing anyone has ever said to you. so naturally. "don't move?" you repeat.

"please...~" and god the please does something to you, the way it comes out rough and a little desperate, like he's been holding it for a while. his forehead drops to your shoulder, and his dark hair fans out against your neck, and he smells like that stupid sandalwood soap he uses, the one that's been in your bathroom for so long you've stopped noticing it except for right now, pressed this close.

you should be nice. you could be nice.

you rock back slow. one long drag, deliberate, your hips rolling back into his until you feel every ridge of him through the fabric and he makes a sound in your hair that isn't words, isn't anything, just this wrecked little exhale that he buries against your skin and refuses to let you hear properly.

his hips press up to meet you, just barely— involuntary, you think, because he immediately goes still after like he's pretending it didn't happen.

"you're literally poking me," you say.

"i-i know." he sounds pained.

"like— significantly."

"i k-know." he hiccups out.

you tilt your head to look at the side of his face, and he's flushed all the way up to his ears, lashes pressed to his cheek, jaw set like he's fighting himself. there's something almost unbearably pretty about it, choso coming undone this quietly, this earnestly, over nothing. over you sitting in his lap on a random tuesday. kinda pathetic. adorable, but pathetic.

"you could just ask," you offer, generously.

"i'm not gonna ask you to," he starts, then stops, then his hips roll up again, helpless, chasing the friction you're withholding, "...please just keep moving."

so you do.

you find a slow rhythm, rocking back against him, and he finds it with you almost immediately, hands guiding your hips like he's been thinking about the angle, like he already knew exactly how he wanted this. the fabric between you is thin enough that you feel everything. the pulse of him. the way he gets harder the longer it goes. his rings leave little cold indents in your skin where he grabs you tighter every time you grind down.

"f-fuck me," he breathes, mouth against your neck now, lips barely touching, "jus' like that, don't stop."

"so needy," you murmur, and you mean it fondly, but it comes out mean, and he shivers anyway. "embarrassing, baby."

"yeah," he agrees, completely without shame, hips pushing up into yours, "d-don't care."

and that's the thing about choso. he's big, stupidly big, the kind of size that makes you embarrassingly aware of yourself every time you settle into his lap, all that weight and warmth, the stretch of his thighs under yours. he has rings on every finger and a tongue piercing and dark hair that gets in his face, and he once threatened to fight gojo over something you can't even remember, and yet here he is, rutting up against you through two layers of clothing, hunting his orgasm like he's got nothing to prove and nowhere to be.

you rock back harder, and he groans for real this time, low and open, doesn't try to muffle it.

"look at you," you say softly, reaching back to press your palm to his jaw, tipping his face up so he looks at you. his eyes are blown, lips parted, the flush on his cheeks gone past pink into something closer to red. you smooth your thumb over his cheekbone and feel him exhale shaky against your wrist. "making a mess of yourself."

"m' yours," he says, simple, like that explains everything. "s' okay if i'm a mess."

and that wrecks you a little, more than it should — more than you're prepared to show him.

you turn back around and press down into him, and he chokes on his next breath, fingers scrambling for purchase on your hips, the rhythm stuttering and going sloppy. he's close, you can feel it in how erratic his hips get, how he keeps pressing up and then pulling back like he's trying to make it last and can't.

"cho—" you grind down, slow and deliberate, one long roll.

"don't stop," he breathes, "p-please, s' right there, please."

you keep moving. he shakes against your back.

when he cums, his whole body goes tense and then loose — all at once, a muffled moan pressed into your shoulder, hips stuttering through it, cock pulsing through the fabric in these long, slow waves while he grips you like you're the only solid thing in the room. it goes on longer than you expect. little aftershocks, little twitches, his breath uneven and hot against your neck.

then he goes very still.

you give him a moment.

"so," you start.

"don't."

"i wasn't gonna say anything."

"yes you were." he sounds wrecked, embarrassed and fond all at once, nose buried in your hair, arms looping loose around your waist now, pulling you back into him fully, the evidence of what just happened warm and sticky and entirely his problem.

"i mean— a little." you pause. "you good?"

choso exhales long and slow. his rings tap absently against your stomach. on the tv, something explodes, totally unwatched. "yeah," he mumbles finally, pressing his lips to the back of your neck, soft and deliberate. "m' good."

you settle back into him.

the movie keeps playing.